


Never Let Me Down Again

by DarkSammyProdigy02



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Azazel’s Special Children, Dark Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester - Freeform, Demon Possessing Tyson Brady/Sam Winchester - Freeform, M/M, Prince of Hell | Yellow-Eyed Demon Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSammyProdigy02/pseuds/DarkSammyProdigy02
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester are like the star crossed lovers of Romeo & Juliet, if the iconic forbidden lovers were locked up in a homosexual, incestious relationship. But Sam has even darker secret that goes beyond being tangled in his brother's sheets. A secret that no one knows, except for the darker forces seeking him. Saddled with seemingly uncontrollable powers of unknown origin, and fearful of his family of hunters, he decides to run away, only to run into the arms of the very thing that has sought him since his conception.Years pass, and Dean Winchester is forced to visit his wayward brother in a hunter-made prison, where he is the main attraction. Their dad is on a hunting trip and he hasn't been in home in a few days, but the younger Winchester knows exactly why. Forced to join forces to take out the yellow-eyed demon and save their father (both for entirely different reasons) the two brothers fall into old habits. Dean tries to persuade Sam to stay with him, to finally stop running away, but his little brother has been running so long, he doesn't know if he can stop. Dean swears... that he will never let him down again.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Demon Possessing Tyson Brady/Sam Winchester, Kate(Supernatural: Dead Man’s Blood) & Sam Winchester, Kate/Luther (Supernatural: Dead Man's Blood), Sam Winchester & Special Children
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019-20





	1. Prologue: We’re Flying High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I’m sorry if this feels incomplete, but my last three chapters were accidentally deleted, so I had to make due. Fear not I’m trying to recover them from memory, and they’ll be used as a sequel! I hope you guys enjoy what there is! And the lovely art by: soluscheese

Art Post: https://soluscheese.tumblr.com/post/190633939656/never-let-me-down-again-author-darksammyprodigy02

Story Post: https://asksamshairblog.tumblr.com/post/190633874661/show-chapter-archive

  
Even when he was just a mere infant, Sam Winchester somehow knew he was a stranger among his own family. He is a human. Or at least he liked to think that he had once been a human; a person with scars and bruises all over his body; red trickily blood running down their sides; picture of misery, reflected both inside and outside. Sam is perfect, a cherub with fair skin and rosy cheeks. He isn’t the same as the other bodies that swarm about him — bones aren’t supposed to mend as fast as they break – but he quickly realizes the other bodies are much more sensitive than his.

‘Dumb luck’ John Winchester had often said, before scolding him on his carelessness. Even when John clearly saw the claws of a werewolf tear into Sam’s side. But when he removes the bandages that are stiff from all of the blood, there’s only some surface scratches, and even those disappear after a few days. Dean snidely called him Little Norris as Sam pushed the needle through his skin to piece his fragile – human – flesh back together. Later that night, he asks Sam with a lopsided smile to kiss it better.

Sam didn’t need to look to deep down, he could easily see the differences between him and well... everyone else. He shouldn’t be able to do the things he can. When Sam is alone, or rather alone enough, he levitates some random knick-knacks with his mind. Then if he gets bored, he lights them aflame with only a flicker of his eyes.

Eventually even that gets boring, though Sam knows he can't exactly expand his abilities under the ever-watchful eyes of Dean or John. They’d put him in a pine box with a knife embedded his chest. Hopeful, he used to watch his family to see if they were hiding a power like his or something else entirely, but they're just so boring. Or maybe they're just as good at hiding it as he is.

Dean, of course, insists that he’s normal, tells him that he’s just like every other overdramatic teenager when Sam voices his concerns. He’s blissfully ignorant to what his baby brother really is. Sam decides that it’s best to keep it that way. John Winchester isn’t as impervious to his youngest son’s true nature as Dean, but he still hasn’t the slightest clue as to just what he is. Sam, to him, has always just felt… off, like a black sheep amidst a flock of white.

Sam tried to give things back too, maybe thinking that might help, in some roundabout fashion. He absorbed every little thing about hunting; he had an extensive knowledge of the supernatural and mythology as well. He protected his family, tried to stay Sammy - - wide eyed, innocent little Sammy. The gullible little idiot that went along with everything his older brother did, trailing along after him like a puppy that hadn’t been kicked enough times to take a hint. Sammy was his mask; a façade to hide the yearning for something more.

Sam wanted to take things, everything, to try and make up for the wanting. There is always an itch not yet scratched lurking, clawing, and hissing through the oh-so-thin confines of his skin. Underneath his skin, beneath those batting eyelashes and wide, innocent hazel hues, lied a great and terrible evil. He tried not to give in -- ignoretheitchignoretheitch -- but he barely scratched the surface, when the thing lurking began to emerge. One could say he was weak, but scared, too. He was too scared to be evil, and too weak to fight that fear.

And Sam knew, that the thing that lurked was something bigger and stronger waiting eagerly to be let out, something built up underneath his flesh and bones. Something that would tower above everything and help Sam see beyond it all. Something that had answers and actions and didn’t flinch from what needed to be done. Something that would take him away from the mundane imprisonment of earth, take him away, far, far away… To the place where he truly and wholly belonged. The itch grew stronger; he wanted to let it out.

Some of his memories are like dreams he can’t quite remember. Like a torn piece of cloth Sam couldn’t quite fit those parts of himself anywhere. Not yet. Sam remembers a cage hovering in a mass of darkness, lightning strikes in the distance, and red eyes illuminate from between the bars. He remembers the feeling of a frigid waves crashing over him, full of so much ice, as cold fingers graze over his face, and a voice in the darkness. The breath smells like the graves he and Dean had needed to dig up to burn bones as it whispers: SamSamSamSamSamSam….

In the memories, the voice wants freedom.

...Sam wants freedom, too.


	2. We’re Watching the World Pass Us By

**May 1999**

Dean’s description of the bathroom was a little off-putting. 'It smells like piss; the toilet is literally fucking pink with scum and the shower either freezes your balls or burns the skin off your ass. It's over there. Enjoy.'

Of course, Dean had greatly overexaggerated the state of their latest motel bathroom. The formica peeled from the vanities and the enamel was chipped in the sink. Water leaked from the base of the faucet when it was in use. But it was scrupulously clean, the old tarnished mirror sparkled in the light and the bath, though also chipped, was as brilliant white as any in a showroom. The towels were unscented, stiff, but carefully folded on top of the sink.

“When I’m done with the shower you better be next in line,” Sam comments at the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest with a towel slung over his shoulder.

Dean is laying on their shared bed, his arms folded behind his head, and his face lax as he feigns sleep. But eventually he cracks, and opens one eye, his plush lips pulling into a grin as he rolls onto his side and lifts one hand up. He moves his hand in the air like it’s a puppet, opening and closing his fingers like his hand is talking, “Sammy, I’d rather drop my pants in front of the C-Block at the local prison.”

The younger brother rolls his eyes, and states, “Well then I guess you’re taking the floor tonight. ‘Cause there’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you,” He hugs the towel closer to his chest as he adds, “And we sure as hell won’t be doing anything.”

“What?” Dean shouts, shooting out of bed, “Come on, Sammy! Don’t be like that – Fuck,” He holds his hands up in mock surrender, before he concedes,” Alright damn it! I’ll shower after you’re done. Unless, of course, you want me to join you in there?”

“Wha-No,” Sam sputters a blush rising on his cheeks,” J-Just wait your turn.”

Dean steps closer to Sam, and his hands trailed down his younger brother’s arm, fingers touching lightly. Sam’s breath hitches, and his lips part in surprise. Goosebumps prickled up all over his arms as his big brother’s lips pressed warm and wet on his neck. Sam tilted his head to the side, giving Dean more access.

“Still going to make me wait?” Dean said in Sam’s ear as he shoved him up against the wall.

Dean’s lips trailed down Sam’s neck to his chest. Their fingers intertwined, grasping tightly, as the older brother kept him pinned to the wall. Dean raised up again, pressing his lips to Sam’s. He pushed his tongue forward and Sam opened up for him, savoring the taste. They break apart for air, panting wetly against each other’s mouths. Dean moves his hands up to tangle with Sam’s hair, and Sam parts his legs so Dean can stand in between them, their crotches pressed up against one another with warm, delicious pressure. They kiss again for a few long moments, still languid, and finally Sam musters some strength.

“A-after we both shower,” Sam gasps out, managing to gently push off his big brother, “I’m a mess.”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Dean comments, “But, hell, you look a lot better then you did a few hours ago. When that son of a bitch threw you into that wall, I seriously thought that pretty face of yours would be ka-put. You’ve just got a little bit of a black eye – I didn’t hurt you when we were…”

“No. I’m fine,” Sam insists.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I should’ve been thinking with something more than my privates – “Dean mutters, rubbing the back of his neck with a frown on his lips.

Sam shrugs, and responds, “Like you said, it’s just a black eye.”

“That’s a lot of blood for just a black eye.”

It’s not Sam’s blood. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“Dean,” Sam states softly,” I’m fine really. It’s just a black eye, okay?”

Dean nods and presses a gently kiss to Sam’s temple. “Okay,” He says,” Hurry up and shower.”

The mirror showed Sam the boy the world saw, and somehow it didn't seem right. His left eye is swollen, he won’t be seeing a thing out of that for a little while yet. His face still bears congealed blood and his clothes are an utter mess. He ran a finger over the frame, feeling its cool ridges and grooves and the layer of dust that clung. On each arm there are great purple welts that will likely disappear over the coming hours. He looks as beat up as he did in his early days of training, sparring with his family, both of which were two heads taller and over twice his mass.

Still staring in the mirror, Sam slowly rose his hand up; there was silence and then a small click of fingers. The noise cut through the quiet, catching his attention. Another click, and a flicker of light as a flame danced on his pale, trembling fingers for the briefest of moments. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter, holding it to the smoldering flame, the paper burning as he still held it in his hand. White eventually browned, touched by a golden glow, falling to the floor as ash. Acrid-tasting smoke coated his mouth as he crouched down, his eyes fixed to the golden flame in his hand, oblivious to the movement.

Sam flexed his fingers, and the flames spread over his palm, only reddening the skin ever-so-slightly. He cupped his hands together, like he was making a snowball, and the flames took on an almost sphere-like form. It was almost like a soap bubble, except with more weight, like a baseball. Out of curiosity, he tossed it high into the air, and gawked as it landed back in his waiting cupped palms. He laughed softly and began passing the fiery ball back in forth from hand to hand.

Sam suddenly stops, his laughter dying in his throat. Slowly, his hands shaking, he brings both of bis hands together, crushing the sphere, and then pulls them apart. The sphere is now almost like clay in his hands as he molds and forms it with his trembling fingers. Then, he goes completely still. So, in an instant he drops his hands by his sides and the flames leapt like an uncaged tiger, a living wall of yellow flame. Without a second thought, he snaps his fingers again, and the flames vanish; a gasp escapes his lips as he backs up against the wall and starts to sink to the floor.

Sam pulls his hands around his knees, hugging them so close that they dig into his chest. All he hears is Dean breathing, a sound that once brought him peace. Now with every intake he feels the invisible noose around his neck grow tighter and the door, the street, the road beyond are all the further away. He presses his face into his knees once he realizes that he's crying. He cries like there is too much raw pain inside himself to be contained. He cried like his spirit needed to break loose from his skin, desperate to release this new elemental rage on the world.

There’s a knock on the door. “Sam? Sammy" Dean's voice is quiet, thick with sleep,” Sammy, I need you to calm down. Take a breather and tell me what’s wrong!”

Sam tries to say something, anything, but he can’t. He just cries harder. The words of his brother made no difference at all. Sam was beyond all reason, beyond all-natural methods of calming.

"Jesus, Sammy, come on! Talk to me!" Dean's voice is no longer quiet nor calm, it is loud and panicking, “Are you hurt?"

“Dean,” Sam finally manages to choke out, “I’m fine. I just…”

"Don’t even try and lie to me, Sammy,” Dean growls, his palm smacking on the door, “I’m fucking serious, Sam. Open this door or I swear, I will kick it down.”

Sam just can't. He can't face his brother, knowing what he’ll have to do him in any day in the future. He can't breathe. He buries his face in his arms and waits for the door to give in, waits for his brother’s angry voice to be mere inches away. To be shaken like a ragdoll when he asks for an explanation. Dean doesn't kick the door down. The door opens, and his big brother is holding up the lock kit they use for hunts for him to see. He crouches down on his knees in front of his little brother, and gently take his face in his hands, turning it from side to side.

“I’m not seeing any new injuries,” Dean says, his hands still on his brother’s face, “So, if you’re not hurt, what the hell is your malfunction?”

Sam shakes his head and stays quiet.

"So, “Dean inquires, gently running his thumbs up and down Sam’s face, “You’re not gonna talk to me?"

"J-just go, Dean.”

"Sammy. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.”

"Nothing,” Sam sniffles and sucks in a shaky breath. He grits his teeth and tries to stop his tears.

"You don’t cry for nothing,” Dean barks, taking his hands away, “I know you Sam. You didn’t even shed a tear when a damn shapeshifter pulled your arm out of its socket! Hell, you barely blinked! When you cry, it’s bad, Sam. It’s really bad.”

Sam stubbornly wipes his face on his sleeve, and chokes out, “Seriously. I’m fine. I’m just being a baby.”

Dean chuckles, and ruffles his brother’s hair as he quips, “I wish you were a baby. Things were a lot easier then. At least I knew why you were crying then. You were either hungry, tired, or you shit yourself,” He leans closer to the latter’s face, grinning as he asks, “Did you shit yourself? Is that why you’re crying? Embarrassed?”

“I’m gonna shit on your side of the bed if you don’t go away!”

"Come on, Sammy, I’m out of guesses,” Dean says all playfulness leaving his voice, his hand running over his face, “Something’s wrong, something's really wrong and I don't...I can't fix it if you won't tell me what it is."

"Don’t you see? There is no fixing this, Dean!”

"How do you know that?”

Sam shakes his head, before choking out,” Because it’s me. Don’t you see? I’m the... the t-thing that’s broken here, Dean.”

Dean’s sharp intake of breath makes Sam flinch. “God, Sammy, please… don’t say shit like that. Jesus, you’re not broken. You’re not…” He trails off, and he looks like he might start crying too,” You are not broken, Sammy. Whatever made you think that… Look at me Sam. Look at me.”

Sam glances into Dean’s eyes, and his lips part ever so slightly. Dean leans close, so close that his breath is warm on his skin as he grips his wrists tightly.

“No matter what happens. No matter what fucked up shit goes down, I will always be here to keep you from falling apart,” Dean laughs almost hysterically as he grips his little brother’s wrists even tighter, “You are everything to me. Everything. Sam, I can’t even fall asleep at night if you’re not in the same bed. Don’t you dare think, for a single second, that I’m going to just let you fall apart in front of me. I will do whatever it takes to make you feel whole again. Just let me. That’s all I’m asking here.”

Dean presses his lips to Sam's hands and that's it, Sam can't take any more, and clasped onto the nearest something for support, anything, his brother’s solid body. Dean wrapped him in a warm swaddle of his chest and arms. Sam didn't want to leave. His fingers curled around his older brother’s waist, scraping his sides as if he were slipping away and couldn’t stop himself. It felt as if when he was in his brother’s arms all his pain went away - mental and physical. If he could only stay in his arms forever, safe from the things that went bump in the night; things that sought him out. One could only hope.

“Shh,” Dean begins to gently rock him in his arms, his fingers combing through his hair, “Whatever this is. Whatever you’re feeling right now. We’ll get past it, Sam. It’s me and you, buddy. Until the end of the line?”

“Yeah, until the end of the line,” Sam whispers.

Dean kisses his forehead, keeping his lips there for several heart pounding moments. “Come on, there’s a peanut butter and banana sandwich with your name on it,” He gently pokes his brother’s belly, his lips pulling into a smile,”I’ll even let you use the last of the peanut butter.”

“Thanks, De,” Sam says, sniffling one last time, and practically scrambling towards the petite kitchen. But, he makes it a point not to be the touchy, deeply type; especially around Dean, so he adds,”Jerk.

Dean smirks at the snark, and shoots back,”Bitch.”

Dean follows Sam into the kitchen handing him the loaf of bread from one of the higher shelves, leaning onto the counter to watch his brother make the sandwich. His brother had always been a strange eater, so picky about everything he put into his precious body, loathing the greasy, sugary messes he and his father loved. A peanut butter and banana sandwich was one of the few "cheats" his brother allowed himself, on his otherwise strict diet regimen that consisted of a lot of leafy greens. Well, that and a bowl of Lucky Charms.

Sam placed the sandwich onto a paper plate, delicately cutting it into triangles, which made Dean laugh as a memory surfaced. Dean recalls his little brother's grade-school teacher calling, only a hair away from a complete meltdown because their dad had been a rush and had cut his sandwich into rectangles. Sam hated rectangles, for reasons those with older, more mature minds couldn't fathom. Dean earned himself his first detention that day, when he'd sneaked out of the school back to their motel room to make a proper sandwich for his baby brother. The image of his brother joyfully digging into the paper bag, running his sticky fingers down his arms as he hugged him, pressing his head into the crook of his neck, was one of his fondest images.

"Always with the triangles," Dean teases, taking one of the sandwich halves and taking a hefty bite from it.

Sam slapped his older brother's chest, snatching up the other half and nibbling the corner. "Don't we have training in an hour?"

"Yeah," Dean sighs,"You know dad - Monsters don't rest and neither should we."

"It's a good thing I didn't shower, just to get dirty, again," Sam tells him, taking another small bite, chewing thoughtfully.

Dean chuckles, brushing his thumb across the corner of his mouth, swiping off the peanut butter there. "Yeah," He states, smiling devilishly,"Maybe I can join you later."

Sam shoves the sandwich into Dean's face, while blushing furiously. Needless to say, the fight ended with Sam trying to get peanut butter out of his hair.

———

John stood in between the two, waiting as they turned towards each other and stopped goofing off. "Dean, I want you to attack your brother,” He says facing his older son, before turning to his younger one,”Sam, avoid his attacks."

"Hey,” Dean chirps, looking down at his brother,”I hope you’ve got a pair of stilts hidden somewhere, otherwise this is gonna be real quick.”

Their difference in height had increased over the summer, with Sam enjoying a noticeable if painful growth spurt. Though Dean was still able to look down on him. Although he was only a handful of inches taller, it was something he could lord over his baby brother.

“Wouldn't need them, jerk," Sam shoots back with a smirk,”You being a meathead just means you’re slower in more ways than one."

Dean chuckles cockily, crossing his arms over his toned chest, sweat dribbling over in little beads. “Is that a bet,” He challenges with a smirk, one brow raised,”Five bucks to winner?”

“You’re on,” Sam agrees raising his arms up to shrug off his shirt that is clinging to his body in the heat. He takes a pouncing stance a few feet away from his brother, both fists raised in a defensive stance that didn’t block his view of the latter.

Dean just raises both hands forward, wagging his curled fists like a low rent Bruce Lee. “You’re cruisin’ for a bruising little brother,” He informs him smugly, winking,”But don’t worry little brother, only I get to bruise you.”

Sam’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red and he sputters,”Y-you...”

John rolls his eyes, oblivious to the true nature of their relationship, and proclaims,”Just get to it boys. The sooner, the better.”

Neither Dean nor Sam moved, watching the other intently, all sarcasm and smart comments gone. It was not a knife fight, where the first strike was often the last. A slight tilt of the head, a faint licking of lips or shifting their weight one way or the other all telegraphed their first move. Even their breathing, quickened or measured, was a hint. With pride on the line, neither was willing to lose.

Dean shifted right, knowing Sam’s defense on that side was weak. A kick, and a flurry of missed punches had the little brother moving backwards in careful, calculated steps. So as not to collide with any of the nearby trees.

"Backing up is so amateur," Dean scoffs, circling around Sam, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Easy to say," Sam says with a mocking yawn, crouching beneath a high kick,”When you're not the one feeling the wind going by."

"Aw, am I punching too hard?"

As they moved, Sam grew increasingly aware of their father staring not at Dean. Only at himself. Even when his older brother slipped once on a large branch, their father stared at the younger brother to see his reaction. The realization dawned on him. This exercise was not about judging his sons’ ability at dodging attacks. This was about him studying his younger son.

John had likely become suspicious of Sam enough set this up. After that last hunt, how quickly he healed, he wouldn’t doubt it for a second. Sam frowned. If he moved too fast, dodged a little too well, if he used a drop of any of his power-

"Hey, Sammy,” Dean exclaims, play lunging just to make him jump,”I ain't stopping until I tag you, shrimp."

Something in Sam burned at that, his rage visible on his face as he set a determined stare on his brother. “Then you'll be trying for a long time."

Sam stepped in close, almost to Dean’s face. Surprised, Dean stumbled back, throwing a punch that the latter slid to the side of. Dean’s knee came up, somehow missing Sam’s stomach, and the kick aimed at his head missed by inch. For the next minute, the older brother attacked but it was the younger one leading him around those woods. Every blow always struck the empty air where he had been just a second before.

Every dodge, sidestep and turn was tiny, almost imperceptible. To the untrained eye, Sam was like the wind, untouchable, impossible to keep up with. To the trained eye, every step was precise and fast, impossibly fast. Not a single stumble or mistake, nothing less than masterful.

Dean’s frustration grew; his ultimate weakness. Sam knew he’d won when his older brother’s anger reached its boiling point, he got sloppy, careless. Sam suddenly grew aware of how his father stared, wide eyed. Startled at his own mistake, Sam realized that he was moving too fast, too fluid. John watched, and though he would later attribute to a trick of light, his younger son’s eyes are black.

Sam abruptly screeches to a halt, crouching down on one knee with one leg extended to the side. He could have moved a half-dozen times before his older brother swiftly kicked him in the shoulder. The sudden force sent him stumbling backward onto his back, and he winced and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Whoo-hoo!" Dean crowed throwing his hands into the air in victory. Then his brotherly instincts kicked in as he took in his little brother sprawled out on the dirt,”Oh shit, I didn't mean to-I just got pissed and-"

"It's not that bad," Sam said gently, adding more pain to his voice than he actually felt,”It was a good fight... A fair one - For once.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean growls lowly, grunting as he kneeled beside his little brother,”Are you callin’ me a cheater, pipsqueak?”

Sam grins and boldly announces,”Let me just ask a few of your exes -“

Dean caught him with his arm, pulling him close to his chest as he ruffled his hair. “I’ll let you have that one,” He tells him,”Only because I already sent your ass to the dirt one time today... I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

"C'mon," John states gruffly, patting Sam on the back,"You've both earned some sleep."

\--

Dean wakes up with a strangled snort, when John thumps his shoulder and motions towards the door. Sam is smartly curled on the other half of the bed, nearly hanging off of the edge. John walks over there and gently placed a hand on this head, running his fingers through his already messy hair.

"What happened to earnin' sleep," Dean grumbles with a groan.

“Come on,” John grunts, pulling away his hand and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

Dean blinks blearily at him, asking through a yawn,”Hunt?”

“Yeah. We’ve got to be quick about it, so hurry up and grab your gear.”

Dean’s moves to thump Sam in the shoulder, wanting to see him tumble and fall from the bed. John shakes his head as Dean stares at him in confusion. “Sammy isn’t coming,” He whispers.

John replies,”I just need you. Let the boy sleep.”

“...Okay.”

“Good. Now pack up, then we head out,” John commands, before slapping his son’s back good naturedly, and heads towards the doorway.

Dean leans down over Sam, curling one arm around his back and the other arm around the bend in his knees. He then squats down, and then, moves upward, lifting his own body with his legs, along with his little brother’s. With his thin, but muscular frame so close against him, he can feel his heart beating in accordance with his slow, shallow breaths. Despite his swollen eye, the scrapes and cuts the littered the parts of his frame he could see, nothing but serenity was plastered across his face as he slept.

“Don’t worry, little brother. I’m gonna keep you safe, like I always do,” Dean proclaims, pressing a quick chaste kiss to his cheek. Sam mumbles something in his sleep, and moves his head to lay against his chest,”That’s my job, isn’t it?”

Sam just grumbles something in his sleep, along the lines of “shlove yuosh smtoo”.

“Good talk,” Dean huffs with a quick smile, before placing him in the middle of the bed and pulling the covers over him.

———

“Keep up, son,” John Winchester bellows,”We can’t afford to take our damn time!”

Dean nodded in acknowledgement and followed his father’s grueling pace without complaint. The warm humidity of the forest made him feel sticky and suffocated. His clothes and hair, slick with perspiration, clung to his skin. He swatted another pesky insect. Sweat rolled down his skin in thick, salty beads.

“So, when are you gonna clue me in,” Dean questions with a grunt, nearly stumbling over a root protruding from the ground.

“We’re here,” John states, ignoring his son’s questioning, and dropping his duffel bag to the ground unceremoniously,”Alright, hey, go through my duffel and bring out the tarp, it’s already got a devil’s trap painted on it. And be quick about it.”

Dean is tempted to argue. To demand a further explanation, but his drive to gank the damn thing so he could go back to bed won out. He begrudgingly threw his duffel on the cold wet ground, and began to rummage through his father’s duffel for the tarp. He grabs the tarp, unfolds it, and lays it out on the damp ground, tries to press out any wrinkles.

“Good?” Dean questions, motioning to the area. He would never understand how his father and brother managed to form such irritatingly perfect circles with their devil’s traps.

John flicks his gaze over, grunts, and finally nods. “Good ‘nuf,” He concedes

Dean sighs, runs his sleeve over his head. “So, what are we hunting, again?”

“An amarok,” John says, adjusting the shotgun in his grip,”It was a giant wolf or dog in Inuit mythology, that was said to devour anyone dumb enough to hunt at night.”

“Which is what we’re doing.”

“Gotta draw it out somehow,” John shoots back with a snort,”Anyway, turns out they’re actually just wolves or dogs that have been possessed by demons. So, we just trap it and excorcise it, then Bob’s your uncle.”

“Good,” Dean groans through another yawn,”Never thought I’d miss that shitty motel bed.”

———

Sam sat on the old, creamy couch in the sitting area of their motel room, a bowl of Lucky Charms propped on his lap as he watches some crappy documentary on the television. The motel door swung open and his older brother hops over the salt line. Dean walks over and slouches next to him groggily, laying his head against the armrest.

“Late night?” Sam inquires, shoveling up as many marshmallows as he can with his spoon.

Dean opens one eye to look at his brother, and states,”Yeah, you know our old man. He didn’t give up and let us pack up until ‘bout an hour ago.”

“Where is he?”

“Out. He’s consulting some other hunter he knows in town. He just dropped me off so I could catch some z’s before he drags me out, again.”

“I could go,” Sam offers as Dean stands up and stretches. His older brother begins to walk in the direction of their shared bed.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Dean replies with a shrug, pulling off his jacket and laying it across the bed. Then he promptly flops down, crinkling the assortment of papers there.

Panic suddenly spikes in his veins and Sam pounces up like a cat, sending his bowl of cereal across the beige carpet. He curses his stupidity as he eyes his brother reading the assortment of papers he’d left laying on their bed. Dean looks up and there’s a fire in his eyes, his anger causing his plush lips to twist into a deep set frown.

Dean holds one paper up, and coldly asks,”What’s this, Sam?”

“Give it back - Now, Dean,” Sam moves to snatch them, but his brother is quicker, side stepping him and holding the papers high over his head.

“What is this, Sam?” Dean snarls, deadly serious.

Sam gulps nervously. “I got a-accepted,” He starts off slowly, his heart hammering out of his chest,”It’s an academic program for specially selected students at the school in Sioux Falls. I applied while we were staying with Bobby during the winter. Only fifteen get to go, and I was chosen! W-We’d be touring all over the country...”

“All summer, Sammy! The whole damn summer,” Dean barks out, his voice aggravated,”I sure as hell hope you aren’t expecting me to sign this because we both know Dad ain’t.”

“Dean, please,” Sam pleads,”Almost everything is being paid for by the school - And I-I have a lot of money saved up, so I can pay for anything they can’t. It’ll look great when I start to apply for colleges -“

Sam nearly slapped his hand over his mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Dean was probably just a little angry because he wasn’t told sooner, but eventually he would have given in, signed the paper, and made him swear to write everyday. Now, there was no chance he was going on that trip, and he was probably in for quite the yelling match. He was right, for his older brother was seeing red.

“College? College,” Dean repeats dumbly, as if he’d never considered the possibility,”Are you out of your damn mind? Sam, this gig isn’t a temporary thing, it’s our lives. It’s what we do. Saving people, hunting things, the -“

“Don’t you finish that sentence,” Sam spits back, his face flushing an angry red,”I’m tired of hopping from place to place taking a new scar as a souvenir everywhere we go. I’m tired of feeling like I’m trapped in that stupid damn car with just you two. I can’t live like this anymore! It’s not right or normal. And it’s not fair!”

His older brother’s jaw is tight. “‘...just you two...’,” He quotes, his voice deathly quiet,”So, what? We’re not enough, Sammy? After every single damn thing the three of us have been through together, Dad and I are suddenly not enough for you? Fuck that -“

“Dean,” Sam says reaching a hand towards him, flinching as his brother tears away violently,”I didn’t mean that. You know-“

“And fuck you,” Dean snarls, snatching up the paper from the bed and scribbling his signature at the bottom. Then he takes off stomping towards the door and slamming it behind him for good measure.

Tears begin to form in Sam’s vision as he shakily grabs the papers, holding them to his chest. No, he won’t cry. This is what he wanted. Right?

———

Hours pass and his older brother still isn’t back. When only an hour had passed, Sam had called Bobby and asked if he could come stay with him for a while. The seasoned hunter had agreed and told him that he’d go ahead and get a room ready for him. Sam packed his few meager belongings into his duffel bag, carefully setting the signed paper on the very top. He decided that he’d leave late that night, while his father and brother were out hunting, and leave them a note explaining his actions.

Sam was brushing his teeth, about to go to bed, even though the sun had just gone down. He wanted at least a few hours of sleep before he had to catch a bus to Sioux Falls. He was excited, but nervous to be leaving his family, everything that he’d ever known behind, in favor of a normal life. He’d go on the trip, maybe make real, genuine friends, come back and stay at a school for once. Then he’d graduate with honors go to college, maybe become a doctor or, hell, a lawyer. A lawyer sounded good and as he pulled out his toothbrush, he imagined himself swaggering into a court room in a formal suit with a brief case in his grip.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice startled him so that he dropped his toothbrush. It fell to the floor and rolled awkwardly against the door frame. With a frown, his brother bent and picked it up.

"You good?" Dean offered the toothbrush back,” Look, Sammy, I know I yelled at you, but you never take it that hard."

"I'm..." Sam swallowed once and took his toothbrush, setting it in the sink,” It’s all right. I'm just sleepy.”

Dean put his hand on his younger brother's shoulder, “Sam, shit, you’re crying."

"Wha...?"Sam put his hand to his eye and felt a faint drop at the corner. Brushing it hastily, he turned around and blinked hard, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

"Yeah, your eyes are kinda bloodshot," Dean murmurs and steps closer,” You sure you're only tired? You've been acting a little weird lately."

Knowing he was only making it worse and clueless as to how to make it better, Sam busied himself with the act of brushing his teeth. He had his little zip lock bag, filled with all his dental hygiene supplies, and he took the toothpaste out. Or would have, if his hands hadn't been shaking. The little tube dropped, clattering across the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the sink, covering his face with his free hand.

Dean’s big hands came down over his shoulders. The sense of his brother behind him radiated so much warmth, so much heat under his palms, such an overwhelming sense of strength.

"Talk to me, Sammy. What’s wrong? Come on, you’re really starting to worry me here.”

When Sam stubbornly remained silent, his brother forcefully turned him around, still holding him by the shoulders. How easily it would have been to stop him. But he allowed the soft handling, let big brother cup his face. He looked up, and his brother’s hand followed his motion, almost cradling him as they stared into each other.

Dean was a head taller, and more than a shoulder broader. For years, Sam had felt nothing but envy. He would never be as tall, as built. Smaller, thinner, more precise, suited to more delicate work. But now...? He could kill his brother with a movement from his hand. The sudden image in his mind made him flinch. He was already so close to him—he pressed against him, one shoulder up, tucking his face down even as he cringed at how weak he felt.

What was he thinking? How could he, a monster, ever even imagine living a normal life? He shouldn’t be able to do the things that he can. He shouldn’t even still be up and kicking, after all the life threatening injuries he’d suffered and somehow miraculously healed from. What was he? What was he-

"Talk to me, damn it,” Dean whispers, pressing a kiss on his head,” Please, please, let me help you.”

Dean’s hand came under his chin, made him look up. To Sam’s relief, he managed to force back any tears. Instead he felt the growing lure between them, the way they were only inches apart. With just a tiny amount of movement, he could nudge his brother to lower his head just a little, to press their mouths together—They were kissing before he could muster his thoughts.

Dean suddenly broke the kiss, but Sam grabbed his brother too hard, cringing as he grunted. He relaxed his grip but didn't let go. If the motel door hadn't already been closed, he would have slammed it from where he stood half a room away. Now that the words were out between them, he couldn't let this chance slip away.

"I—" Sam fumbled,”I-I...”

Dean presses, irritated,”What?”

‘I’m a monster. A freak. The very thing you hunt.’

“I-I... I have to go, Dean. I just...I just have to. I wish I could tell you why,” Sam musters at last, trying to blink back his tears,”I do. But I can’t - I don’t want you to hate me. I’d rather die a thousand times than see you look at me the way you look at... the way you look at monsters.”

“I would never look at you like that, Sammy,” Dean utters grabbing his shoulders, squeezing them tight,”Not ever. Do you hear me? You don’t have to go.”

Sam wanted to believe him, he did, but every fiber of his being told him the opposite. “No,” He denies,”You’re wrong. I have to go. I-I have to...”

‘Go, before you kill me. Or worse...’

“...go,” He finished.

‘Or I kill you.’

———

Time wasted away on Sam Winchester’s little alarm clock, the digits drifting further into the night. At half past two in the morning, he grabbed his hand-me-down duffel, shut the light, and made his way across the motel room. Soundless, or in ninja mode, as a younger, less mature Dean might say, he eased around the room booby trapped with his family’s filth; dirty underwear, trash, and god-knows what else.

Turning his head until he could find light, he began to walk. Dean always left a light on in the kitchenette; its yellow glow would be to Sam’s right if he was walking out. The mechanical burn of the television would be closer to the exit by the left. With their aide, his eyes adjusted by the time he was a good five feet away from the doorway.

Opening the door was a loud sound he couldn't avoid. But it was rare for someone to hear it anyways; Dean went out all the time and John rarely awoke at the sound, unfortunately. The patriarch of the Winchester family was usually passed out drunk on his bed, an empty bottle still dangling from his slackened fingertips. But he was nowhere in sight, so he was likely still out.

Sam watched the empty bottle now, his temple furrowed in thought. “Why can't I do this,” His words came out in a whisper,” Why do I keep slipping up?" For the first time since this goal to leave behind this life begun, he found himself hesitant,”God, what am I doing?"

The air around him began to quiver, waking to life and taking on force. Everything fluctuated—the windows, the lights, even the mug on the countertop. Suddenly the energy Sam was releasing is on the mug, and for a split second the porcelain seemed to shatter, but he blinked and it was whole again. He closed his eyes, and let’s out a quivering breath as the room stills.

He shook his head. 'That’s why I have to leave,' He thinks.

If he never stopped to think about it, leaving behind everything he knew, it wouldn't hurt so much. Something was happening to him, he was changing—becoming something he was not—and that would not fare to well for a family of hunters. He knew from experience; pondering on the subject for too long would be the end of him. As soon as the door opened, he was gone. But he opened up his duffel and gently tucked one of the folded pictures of himself and his brother into his jacket sleeve.

Sam walked down the sidewalk quietly, and his eyebrows shot up when a medium sized dog appeared out of seemingly nowhere. It was a golden retriever with big brown eyes that stared at him lifelessly, as he panted heavily. It abruptly turned and began to walk down the sidewalk, leading the young man off the path and into the forestry area surrounding the motel. Sam doesn’t know why, but he follows obediently, even though the bus station is in the opposite direction. He feels the harsh cutting edge of the picture's paper in his jacket sleeve, somehow trying to push him the other way, but he keeps walking.

Sam doesn’t know how long he follows the dog, minutes or hours, but eventually the thing does stop. The dog with a large splash of red over its muzzle, that he’s somehow just noticing, barks loudly. Then it stretches and settles onto its belly on the forest floor, still panting heavily as its eyes flicker in his direction. It’s probably just the darkness of the night, but for a split second, he swears the dog’s eyes are black.

A branch snaps a few feet behind the dog and it’s ears perk up in anticipation as it barks again. A man appears seemingly out of nowhere, and stands beside the dog, gently running his fingers through the dog’s long yellow fur, giving it praises. He glances up and his gaze nearly makes his heart stop in chest as a soft gasp escapes his lips. The man’s eyes are yellow, yellow as piss.

Sam only then realizes just how much danger he’s in. “D-Dean...” He whispers, his attempt at a cry for help dying in his throat. His lips begin to tremble and he tries again,”...D-Dean... please...”

The yellow-eyed man slowly raises a finger to his lips, shushing him. He walks a few feet forward, and he’s frozen in place, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. The man gently, almost as if picking up a newborn baby, runs his arm around his back and the bend of his knees, and picks him up bridle style. Frozen, lifeless in the man’s arms, he begins to cry silently, as this inhuman thing turns in its heel and begins to walk deeper into the forest.

“...Dean... D-Dean... Dean...” A tear cascades down his cheek and hits the forest floor below. His arm goes limp and his jacket sleeve gapes open, making the picture folded there fall to the earth.

\--

Dean's eyes flashed open, the whisper of his name still resounding in his ears. He kicks off the covers, patting the area around him and seeing no extra body near him, he stiffened. He knows that he shouldn't be surprised by the absence of his brother after he'd all but shouted off the tallest building he could find, that he was leaving. But something nags him. Something wasn't quite right, and the scream that echoed in his dream felt a little too real.

Dean made up his mind and swung his legs over the bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt off the floor, quickly clothing himself enough to where it was somewhat socially acceptable to be running around the middle of the night. Forgetting his shoes, or simply not bothering with them, he bolts towards the door, ripping it open and racing outside. He jogged down the side walk, a twinging feeling in his gut tells him to follow the path, until he's lead towards the great woods that surround the left of the motel. He stops for a split second, hesitating, then pulls a flashlight out of the pocket of his too-big leather jacket.

The barren branches spiked into the sky - no sign of life to be found anywhere. It was so dark Dean was barely able to see where he was going. There were only small sounds of rustling bushes and the howl of the wind. It could be no blacker in a coffin, six feet under and piled with dirt. He began to breathe the cool air more rapidly. The darkness pressed in on him from all sides and his body screamed for him to run. The flashlight wasn't much use, for its pathetic beam only offered the dimmest of light.

"Sammy!" Dean calls out, shuddering as his voice resounds.

Nothing. Just the hoot of an owl in the trees above served as a reply. Dean knows that he should just turn around and head back to the motel, for his brother was likely on a bus full of strangers, not giving a second thought to him. But when that same twinging feeling returns, his frustration is warred by worry, and he lost his internal battle when he spotted a familiar looking object several yards ahead. His heart sank as he raced forward, crashing to his knees as he picked up the sodden piece of crumpled paper. It was a picture of Sam dressed in a makeshift Superman costume with Dean hoisting him into the air by his waist. Their babysitter, Meg, had taken it of them at their request, and his little brother had carried it around with himself ever since.

"Sammy... no. No, no, no, no," Dean chants to himself like mantra. His head swiveled around the surrounding woods, his eyes frantically combing the trees and earth below for any other signs of his little brother, screaming, "Sammy. Sammy! Sammy!"

The flashlight falls from his limp fingers. The rest of the woods are deadly quiet. It's all too quiet.


	3. Never Want To Come Down

**May 2000**

He was wandering the woods of his dreams, only hearing his bare feet tread, hearing the cracking twigs and leaves underfoot. The woods that were once so alive now chill him to his very bones. The trees that sheltered so many with their spreading canopy of green and provided so much are now lifeless sticks of charcoal, no more vibrant than the old lamp-posts in the city. The unfettered light illuminates the scorched ground and still that smell of burning lingers.

The scream that ripped through the air was as good as a siren. Bony birds attempt to take to the air, but falter in the air, flapping onto nearby branches. Nobody screams like that unless it is terror beyond endurance. It was unmistakably a young boy. He runs, feet kissing the damp ground. Each of his mighty strides resonated throughout the spacious woods.

“Dean!” Comes the worded, blood-curdling cry.

His lips part in surprise, gulping heavily as he heaves desperately,”Sammy! Sammy! Sammy!”

“Dean - Please! Oh God, please! Don’t let him - No,” Sam cries in the distant, his voice crumbling into indiscernible sobs and whimpers. Eventually his voice dies off all together with one, long scream of pure terror that fades into the distance.

Two golden suns rose over the edge of the barren world, finally shedding light into the woods, like two malevolent eyes unblinking. But they were eyes; piss yellow eyes that belonged to no human. There were reasons why Dean Winchester couldn't sleep at night; things he couldn't explain to the random girl he’d picked up at a stop when he jumped awake; he hoped they were nightmares. They never felt like dreams, or as other hunters often suggested, visions. It was like he was spying on something he shouldn't, like when walked in on his dad and a waitress once when he was fourteen.

Dean’s brain was in overload. It felt like shadows crept around his mind and wormed their way into every nook and cranny, even after he woke up. The nightmares were icy and dark and there was only one ray of light. The dreams faded soon after he woke, but Dean could never shake the image of a blood trickling past the flesh of a small hand, its fingers curled up ever so slightly on the forest floor.

———

Sipping from his mug of piping hot coffee, Dean looks closely at the image on his camera phone, frowning at the grainy resolution. The waitress walks by, and fills up his mug, taking away his clean plate, sending him a wink. He can’t find it in himself to respond with any sort of suggestive body language.

Dean squints at the picture, focusing on what seemed to be a tall, svelte boy, standing on the side of a busy street. He doesn’t recognize the number that sent the photo. He pulls a twenty out of his old, peeling faux leather wallet, slapping it on the table, and promptly exiting. He dials the number, and holds his phone to his ear.

After two rings, an older woman gruffly answers,”Who’s this?”

“Funny. I was about to ask the same thing,” Dean responds, taking a seat on a bench to the right of the entryway into the diner,”You’re the one who hit me up, sweetheart.”

A crackling chuckle on the other end,”Boy, I could be your mama. Sorry about that, can’t be too careful,” There’s a split second of silence, and a sound that sounds like a lighter flicking open,”Especially with that tidbit of information I sent you.”

“If it is him - if - why would anyone else be interested,” Dean inquires, his lips drawn tight.

“A lot of new faces have been coming around here, poking their noses where they don’t belong. Every single one, asked about your kid brother,” The woman reveals,”I can’t tell you much more than that. You’ll have to stop by for a drink, and have a chat.”

Dean nods quickly, his teeth gritting as he answers,”Alright. You got a name?”

“Ellen. Ellen Harvelle. I knew your daddy back in the day, good hunter, a shit stain of a man,” Ellen states bluntly, her voice low,”I’m guessing you wouldn’t have been able to get to so many hunters without that journal of his. Look me up, I’ll be expecting you.”

Dean smacks his lips, gripping the phone tightly, and lowly hisses into the phone,”Listen, lady, the trail has been cold since day one. I’ve hit a lot of dead ends, and I am damn tired. But I ain’t gonna stop looking because my brother, my baby brother, is the only thing worth fighting for,” He glances around, making sure nobody is near by,”He’s all I’ve got in this craptastic life. And if one more damn monster, or hunter with a grudge, uses him as a promise to lure me over, I’m gonna fucking snap. I’m just gonna burn my way through every single damn thing on this planet, until my brother is the only thing left in the ashes.”

The phone crackles in his ear, and then on the other end, Ellen informs him,”Fair enough, boy. I’ll be seeing you.”

Dean hangs up without another word, sliding the phone into his pocket, keeping his hand there. His fingers started fumbling through his other pocket, bringing out the crumpled carton of cigarettes, the one stick shaking against the walls. He slides it out, keeping it pressed between his two fingers, pulling out his lighter and flicking it to life. As the end burns red, he curls his lips around the cigarette, inhaling deeply.

Dean inhaled that grey stench, the odor that foretold of tar-infested lungs. There was something rotten in his emerald colored eyes as he took each drag, as if he perversely lured on that morbid end to punish those who had caused his pain. The mother who fell to fiery flames, the father whose brain was addled from corporal punishments and lack of affection.

The low whoosh of the wind blowing was the only sound he heard. Sam was leaning his head against the window of the car, his warm skin smudging against the cool glass, his hazel hues traveling across the passing scenery outside. His magenta lips are parted ever so slightly, damp with saliva, his tongue peaking out and glazing over them as he exhales. He must feel his eyes on him, for they flicker up, meeting his and they’re so bright and full of warmth. He smiles.

“Dean.”

Dean coughs around his cigarette, tossing it the ground angrily, and stomping the heel of his boot against it. “Fuck,” He groans, gulping heavily, trying to push past the lump in his throat,”...Pull it together... You can’t fall apart. You can’t. Not here, not now.

“Dean!”

The hunter rakes his nails across his scalp, parting the hair as he grins his head tightly. He shakes his head in denial, clenching his eyes shut as he mutters reassuringly to himself,”Not real. Not real. Not real.”

In his mind, it’s quiet like a silent film. But still he sees him; always him. His sweet, sweet little brother with apple kissed cheeks and chestnut hair. His tiny smiles, that really shined in the swirling pools of earthly colors that were his eyes. And fuck, it hurts, the image burned in his mind hurts because he cannot hold him in his arms, cannot kiss his brow and taste the cheap motel soap.

Dean shifts his hand into his pocket, the soft jingle of his keys clinking against his fingers. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he makes his way towards his car, and as it comes into view there’s a painful twinge in his heart. Every time he looks at the vehicle, which was once the closest thing to a home he and his family had, now felt like an empty shell. A house full of ghosts that was saddled to.

Dean opens the door, the long creak making his hair stand on end, and he closes the door behind him. The only company he has in the passnager seat is his father’s stolen journal. It’s yellowing pages are visible, his father’s chicken scratch of hand writing easily recognizable. He snatches if off the seat, licking his thumb and flipping through it’s pages, until he gets to the name he’s looking for.

“Ellen Harvelle,” Dean states aloud, his index finger pressed against the fading, smudged ink that is her address.

———

Dean Winchester looked up, his eyes squinting at the blaring white and red neon sign that read: Harvelle’s Roadhouse. He was gonna go out on a limb and say that he was at the right place. He rests his hand on the rough paintwork that coats the door and pushes. Small shards of brown paint crumble to the floor and the hinges squeal as though they are a warning. Laughter overpowers the blaring acoustic music and conversations swirl in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hides and the sharp smell of drink wafts towards him.

Dean flinches when he hears a gun cock and settle on the small of his back. “Listen, I am not in the mood,” He warns,”And so help me God if that isn’t a gun-“

A small girlish giggle sounds from behind him, and a petite voice jokes,”I guess a lot of boys and girls get real happy to see you. But I haven’t seen you around here before?”

“What, you don’t like new customers?”

Another giggle accompanied with a snort,”We don’t get new customers, just dead ones.”

“Right. Well, sweetheart, I’m about to teach you a real important life lesson. You should never put a gun right against someone’s back. Not only does it piss folks off, but it also makes it real easy to do...” Dean turns fluidly, easily snatching the rifle from her hands and cocking it,”...That.”

The young woman is a few years younger than Sam with ash blonde hair tied into braids that lay on either of her scrawny shoulders. Her hands are up in the air in a mocking manner, her eyes squinted into something that resembles a childish glare. He’s surprised she doesn’t stick her tongue out.

“Jo!” A voice barks.

Dean and Jo whip their heads in the direction of the voice. At the very front of the spacious establishment, is the bar where a middle aged woman with greying brown hair is cleaning glasses. Her eyes swivel up, and narrow as they find him, before she slowly inclines her head to the side, motioning to the door that leads into a separate back room. He nods and walks towards it, following her , and quietly closes it behind himself.

“Mom, you know him,” Jo demands stomping after Dean, her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, that’s John Winchester’s boy.”

“You must be Ellen,” Dean states coldly, folding his arms over his chest as he takes in the back room. It’s a joint office and storage room, several crates are scattered about the room. A large group makes up a makeshift couch complete with old, tattered cushions and a stained throw blanket.

“Take a squat,” Ellen sniffs lightly and takes a seat in the old leather office chair in front of the desk. Her eyes flicker over to her daughter and she tells her,”Young lady, if I catch you pointing my gun at one more person who walks through that door, your ass is grass. Now, go to the back room and get some homework done.”

Jo rolls her eyes and replies,”Already did it.”

“Go,” Ellen orders firmly, not going on until her daughter has stormed out of the room, slamming the door for good measure,”The mouth on that one.”

Dean smirks and concurs,”She’s a firey one.”

“Hmm. Listen, I’ll skip the whole bullshit - oh how you’ve grown - small talk. I couldn’t care less how many inches you’ve grown, and I know for a fact that you don’t. So, what do you say we get to the nitty gritty?”

Dean gives her a small sideways smile, and agrees,”Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I think I mentioned on the phone, about all of these hunters showing up around these parts, asking about your kid brother, huh?”

“Yeah?”

Ellen licks her dry lips, inhaling, before continuing with a deep frown,”Well, I had a very long and infesting conversation with one. Evidently he’d heard about all of these inquiries and happened to see a kid that matched the description during his last hunt. See this hunter specializes in handling special cases - rare monsters - that usually don’t pertain to people in our country.”

“Uh-huh, so what was he hunting?”

“Get this - A dijinn,” Ellen’s eyes light up with amusement as she chuckles softly, her smile peaking out.

Dean raises one brow and inquires doubtfully,”A damn genie?”

Ellen clasps the beer bottle that was sitting on her desk, taking a quick swig. “A genie,” She licks at her lips, and goes on, crossing her arms over her chest,”I didn’t believe him either, but he’s the one who produced those photos. I hate to tell you, son, but he’s the closest thing to a lead you’ve got.”

“Well, where do I find the guy?”

“See, that there’s the problem. He went missing not too long after,” Ellen explains,”Initially the genie or whatever monster-of-the-week he was hunting handed his ass to him on a platter, so he retreated back here. I gave him a few drinks, let him sulk and lick his wounds, then he went on his way to finish the job. Haven’t heard anything since.”

Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lowly hisses,”So my only lead is probably rotting in a fucking cave,” He clenches his teeth, his nostrils flaring, before he abruptly swings his arm across the desk, snatching up the beer bottle and slamming it against the wall,”Son of a bitch!”

“Hey!” Ellen roars, grabbing him by the jaw, squeezing it tightly as he forces him to face her.

Dean is breathing heavily, his chest trembling with his frantic, shuddering breaths, his eyes narrowed dangerously. His arms hang limply at his sides, a light flush coloring his cheeks, embarrassed to have the woman that was a good head shorter than him, having to reign him in. His eyes dart down to the floor, staying there stubbornly.

“Look at me,” Ellen demands, and her nail digs into the flesh of his jaw when he doesn’t comply, "Look at me. Now!”

Dean feels the flush on his cheeks darken, and he looks up, grunting,”Huh.”

Ellen’s expression softens, and she slowly slides her hand off his jaw, tucking it into the pocket of her jeans. “Don’t you ever lash out at me again. I have to take enough of that shit from my hormone-crazed brat of a daughter. I don’t need it from a full grown man,” She sighs and continues,”Now, I know you’re hurting, hurting in ways that likely no one could ever understand. Especially not me, hell, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But I do know this - If there’s even the tiniest chance that your brother is out there, he’s gonna need you in your right mind, okay?”

Dean inhales shakily, his exhale nearly a rasp. “Mm-hmm.”

“He’s gonna need you to find him,” She whispers,”But you ain’t gonna be able to do it, or even try, if you can barely keep yourself together. So take a quick breather, then get back in that damn car, and hit the road.”

He tries to pretend that mocking sentiment doesn’t strike him between the ribs, piercing his heart with a fire poker. “Okay. Okay,” He chokes out at last, nodding stiffly,”Okay.”

“Good. That’s good,” Ellen responds reassuringly, "C'mon. I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

Dean follows her out of the office, barely dodging Jo who was snooping by the doorway. He stops short when they halt in front of a pool table. A svelte young man is curled up in a tight ball, billard balls surrounding him and a cue stick is still tight in his grip. He lets out a loud snore, kicking a ball with his socked foot, the shoe lying on the floor.

“Ash. Ash,” Ellen exclaims, smacking her palm over the table.

“No more spanky,” Ash groans in his sleep, swiping randomly in the air with his pool cue,”My bum is sore, mistress.”

Dean dodges the swing, and grabs it, snatching it from the individual’s grip. Then he promptly smacks it across the side of his back, biting back a smirk at the startled yelp that followed. Ash lifts his head ever so slightly and flips him the bird, settling his chin on the edge of the table. He folds his arms under his chest, hoisting himself up like a mermaid on a rock to face the two.

Ash shakes his head, swiping his mess of a mullet out of his face, blowing at the stubborn strands still in his face. “...Does swatting a man’s ass while he’s sleeping usually get ya what ya want,” He grumbles, running his hands over his face, drawing his fingers up to his temples and rubbing them,”You don’t interrupt a man’s wet dreams.

“Ugh,” Ellen groans in disgust, placing her hands over Jo’s shoulders.

“We heard,” Dean replies,”Where do you think I got the inspiration?”

Ash chuckles sitting up all the way, stretching like a cat as his well rested bones pop noisily in objection. “What can I do you for?” He inquires sleepily, his gaze hooded.

“Last time we talked, you told me that you’d amassed some data on where the ‘dijinn’ was hiding out,” Ellen informs him, setting both of her hands on the side of pool table, leaning in close to the latter, "I need you get me a definite answer. Dean and I are going to cover the area, see if we can find -“

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean interrupts,”Uh-uh. I’m doing this alone. I ain’t dragging no one else into this mess with me.”

Ellen scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head, ”Stubborn. Just like your daddy -“

Pointing a finger at her, Dean seethes, "Don't ever compare me to him again. I’m nothing like him. Nothing,” His eyes blazed with anger and a muscle in his jaw twitched,”If he did agree to let someone go with him, it was only to use the suckers as bait. I’m not letting you come... because it’s my brother; he’s not your problem. honestly. But also I don’t know you. I don’t trust you to have my back.”

Ellen acknowledges,”I get that. Alright, fine, get the stuff to him.”

“Mom!” Jo exclaims as her mouth fell open, her hands going to her hips again.

“Why the hell are you mad,” Ellen hisses, not even turning to face her daughter,”You weren’t going in the first place.”

Dean expresses his gratitude, "Thank you,” He shifts from foot to foot awkwardly, going on, "Can you do me one last favor -“

“Let me guess,” Ellen interupts, putting up a hand with a smirk,”Don’t tell your daddy you were here. I know how to keep my lips zipped, but if he asks...”

Dean nods in understanding, saying,”I get it. Just... He gave up and he wants me to, too. And I can’t,” He lets out a dry laugh,”I just can’t. Not with...”

Sam’s hair is flowing in the wind, like stalks of dark grain. His lips are parted ever so slightly and his eyes closed with his long eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly. Suddenly his eyes pop open, widening as they go in his direction. A yellow glare shines in the distance. He screams -

“...So where do these things usually hole up,” Jo asks.

Ash’s answers,”Ruins usually. Bigger the better you know -“

The rest of the conversation is just background noise, like static. He stares dead ahead, his eyes glued to the wall. His hands hang limply at his sides. His brother was all that he could see. It was him, always him.

“Dean!”

Dean says it low enough to where it’s not even audible, but the name does part from his lips,”...Sammy.”

———

Dean enters the abandoned building, with a flashlight, swinging open the creaky door. He walks through what appears to be an eerily empty office, save for the rats. There's a dripping water sound, but otherwise it appears empty to him.

He looks back and forth a few times, and then starts walking back the same direction he came from but this time in the hall. On his right among all the old things and such we see a figure watching him. He doesn't see it and walks on. Suddenly it attacks him, pinning him against the window wall.

“Holy...” Dean gasps out,”Genies are fucking real. I’m gonna owe Jo a hefty wad of change.”

Dean lets out a yell and drops his flashlight. The djinn slams his right hand up against a wall, forcing him to drop his knife. He gets his first clear look at the monster, who is bald, with curling blue tattoos all over its face. The djinn opens its left hand, which begins to glow in blue, at the same time that its eyes begin glowing. It puts its glowing hand on his forehead and his eyes roll up, and take on a faint blue hue.

———

Every morning Dean Winchester wakes up, and seconds later he remembers. Not before he frantically pats that empty, uncreased spot on the motel bed beside him, whispering the name of his wayward brother beneath his breath. He hopes, no, knows it will pass in time. He has to, for the sake of his own sanity. It may be months, even years, before that horrifying second upon waking dulls and fades. It will in time, though, and perhaps then he'll remember how to breathe.

But for the first time in many months, when Dean opens his eyes, there is an occupant in the spot next to him. The comforter conceals most of that occupant’s lower body, but the back of their head is perfectly visible, even in the early light streaming through the curtains. It’s a mess of chestnut curls, bedraggled and parted in different directions. He lays there for what must have been several long minutes, motionless, silent, as he watches the rise and fall of the latter’s broad chest, the twitches of their fingers.

Sam has always slept on his side, facing outward, back inches from pressing against his older brother’s chest. He always knowingly left enough room for another to spoon against him, press into his warmth. In his waking dream, his little brother’s hands tighten over the ones around his waist, pulling him over as close as possible, fearful of waking up without his touch. And Dean lies still, very still, as he slowly wraps his arms around the occupant’s belly, pulling them close against his chest, as he settles his chin on that mess of earthy waves.

Dean, keeping his arms tightly woven around him, sits up ever so slightly, trying not so stir the sleeping young man in his arms. His pointless curiosity is just too much to bare, despite knowing all too well that the boy in his arms is another faceless stranger of a drunken night. He wouldn’t put it past himself to drink his way into the bed of an individual that barely resembled his baby brother, even in the haze of smoke and cheap beer. But when he pressed his finger against the face of the occupant, tilting it towards him to spare them just a look, a mere glance, he goes pale, lurching, and scrambled out of the bed.

The brown, yet somehow auburn hair of Sam Winchester seemed to shine, almost glow in the bright morning rays that spilled across the sheets and rumbled covers. His tan skin, even his cheek which had that solitary beauty mark, was shimmering seductively in smooth honeyed tone. A film of sweat was glistening on the patches of his skin which rested uncovered by the light fabric of his sleep shirt or the blankets. While his eyes were moving rapidly behind his closed eyelids, obviously chasing images of his dream which weren't too enjoyable.

Then they flash open, immediately flitting up at him. “...It’s rude to stare,” He grumbles, voice gravely with sleep,”Don’t let our old man see you staring at me with your jaw slack and heart eyes. Not even he’s that dim. He can only ignore so much.”

Dean’s jaw clicks shut consciously, and he rips his gaze away, biting at his lip. “...S-Sammy...” He manages to choke out, before stumbling forward and practically scooping his brother out of the depths of the tangled sheets and blankets to bring him into an embrace.

Dean hugged him. Though ‘hug’ wasn’t the best word for it. He wrapped his arms around his little brother’s slender form and clung to him, gripped him. Sam immediately froze, his body going rigid as the latter forced his body close, burrowing his face in his neck. Then he slowly went limp in his arms, allowing the other man to practically swallow his body within his own, shaking with tears he refused to shed.

“...Y-you came back...” Dean says throatily.

“Back,” Sam questions softly, breath tickling the curve of the latter’s neck,”I never left. Never will. We promised each other, didn’t we...? ‘Til the end of the line.”

Dean shudders as he nods. “...end of the line.”

Dean pulls away from Sam nearly crumbling like paper when he looks into those warm hazel orbs. “Are you okay, dude,” Sam inquires, worry etched in the lines of his face,”You look like you’ve seen a ghost... More than usual.”

Dean laughs weakly at that. “Bad dream is all,” He answers,”Clowns and midgets.”

“Look, seriously, if you need to talk my door is always open. Or, well, our door. You get the point,” Sam expresses waving his hand in exasperation, before changing the subject,”Dad should be back soon with a few boxes of guaranteed future heart attacks from that diner down the road.”

“Dad,” Dean sputters in disbelief.

“Yeah. Dad,” Sam starts slowly, frowning,”You know, middle-aged guy, frowns a lot, uses a lot of sports metaphors.”

Dean snorts. “I see nothing has changed.”

“In the whole of the six hours you were sleeping? No.”

The door suddenly comes swinging open, and John Winchester stumbles in with an armful of plastic bags heavy with to-go boxes. “Helpful as usual, boys,” He mutters, using his foot to shove the door closed behind himself.

Sam eagerly made his way to the table taking a seat at the left side of the rocking table, keeping a palm on it to steady it. John takes a seat next to him, clapping his younger son’s back and making casual conversation as he slides his box over to him. He even teases his son as he eyes the fruit and egg whites with disdain. Dean looks on, still standing, watching the scene unfold with a tiny fond smile.

“What’s with the staring,” John asks, one brow raised in his direction.

Sam takes a sip of his water, smirking,”He’s been doing it all morning.”

“Okay then,” John mutters, giving a slight shake of his head,”Just sit down and grab a friggin’ box. You’re making me damn antsy. Don’t need to be that way before a hunt.”

Dean takes the seat on the right, happily taking the last styrofoam box in the bag. He nearly drools at the messy cornucopia of breakfast foods shoveled in the box. The smell of grease and salty butter wafts in warm puffs as he breaks out his plastic ware and gathers condiments. Sam crinkles his nose and snootily shoves a strawberry in his mouth, chewing slowly and thoughtfully.

“So, what are we hunting,” Dean questions around his mouthful of fried egg. Yolk dribbles down the side of his mouth and he quickly swipes it with his tongue.

“In one ear and out the other, huh,” John quips, nudging Sam with his elbow.

Sam balls up a napkin and tosses it at Dean, agreeing,”Yeah.”

Dean swats it away with ease, only for his brother to throw his straw wrapper into his mountain of hash browns. “Whoa! Watch the potatoes, Sammy,” He admonishes playfully, giving the latter’s foot a firm kick under the table, shaking the table again,”Do that again, and I’ll put shave you bald. I’ll make you smooth as a dolphin’s belly.”

“Hey, cut it out. Both of you,” John snips, before either can retaliate,”Can’t we have one damn meal without you two threatening to shave each other?”

Sam purses his lips, trying to muffle his laughter. He quickly clears his throat and points out,”Don’t we still need to fill in the dunce over here on the hunt?”

“You hit all the books and figured out what the damned thing was. Honors all yours.”

Sam goes on, explaining with a solemn tone,”All the evidence points towards a family of ghouls.”

Dean crosses his hand as he object,”Time out. Ghouls only snack on the things that are already in the dirt.”

“Usually,” Sam admits, before going on,”But there are some rare exceptions. Some like fresher meat, I guess. Anyway, they do seem to be keeping old habits with their tunneling because all the houses they’ve been hitting are close to the local cemetery.”

“How many dead so far,” Dean asks.

“Three households, so a dozen, give or take,” John tells him,”All with the bodies gone and neighbors didn’t hear anything. Not a sound, just lots of blood.”

Sam turns to Dean intently and explains,”Tonight we’re going to their lair and flushing them out. We can’t wait until they’re hungry, again.”

“Just a bring a machete to the party. They don’t function too well without their heads,” John cuts in,”So you two best get some early shut eye. We’re in for a long night.”

——

“You’re doing it, again,” Sam observes, not turning around from his cross-legged position on the Impala,”Staring. You can join if you’d like.”

Dean takes a seat beside Sam, happily accepting am offered chilled beer from a cooler on the roof of the car. “You got taller,” He comments, popping the cap off the beer,”I don’t know how you manage to cross your legs without accidentally getting them in knots.”

“Wow,” Sam scoffs, bringing his knees up so he can rest his chin.

“Did...” Dean trails off, hesitant. He takes a deep breath and inquires slowly,”So... did... college not, um, p-pan out?”

A line appeared between Sam’s brows and he states,”No. No, it...” He falls silent, voice fading out,”I wanted it, more than you’ll ever know. But I knew that this - us - is better.”

Dean’s pupils went huge at that. “Oh.”

“Okay, what’s been with you,” Sam inquires seriously, setting down his beer with a concerned frown,”You’re always a little slow -“

“Watch it.”

“-but you’re acting like you haven’t been around for ages,” He finishes, ignoring the interruption.

Dean sighs aloud at that, taking a quick, heady drink of his beer. “I feel like any second now I’m gonna pinch myself, and I’ll be back in an empty room with an empty table and empty chairs,”He admits honestly, rubbing his mouth over his sleeve,”I-I don’t know what to tell you without making you want to send me to the looney bin.”

“What in our life isn’t even a little crazy? Putting it bluntly, we’re brothers that hunt monsters like a normal working class guy does house work,” Sam remarks cooly,”And it just so happens we jack each other off in the shower. You know, normal brotherly bonding activities.”

Sam has Dean there, and he admits as much with a tilt of his head and a conceding shrug. “Wait, we still, uh...” He laughs heartily at the puzzled expression on his little brother’s face,”Good because I’ve been wanting to do this.”

Sam blushes a deep red like the plump strawberries he’d been eating earlier that morning, still bashful when it came to their unique brotherly relationship. Dean scoots real close on the car and grabs his shirt in a surprisingly firm fist. His other hand goes to his little brother’s neck, fingers playing with the soft curls there. The older brother leans in, chuckling deeply when their noses brush against each other, leaving their lips torturous inches apart.

Sam lunges for his lips like he's been waiting for this moment, as if Dean hadn’t been offering it up on a fucking platter, before. Their mouths meet in a crash of teeth, desperate and hard, to the point that it was painful, but neither dared pull away. There’s a static buzzing over Dean’s skin as he retakes control and runs his tongue between the crease of Sam’s lips. He presses into the warmth of his mouth, merging their bodies together.

“Missed this. Missed you,” Dean whispers so softly, it was hardly a sound, between breaths.

Dean takes more than he is given, enveloping Sam in his arms as he nips and licks at his little brother’s swollen lips. Sam gasps, his hands coming up to cup his big brother’s face. Dean is panting, wild-eyed, but he breaks the kiss, grazing his thumbs over the latter’s cheek bones as his dark eyes fix on Sam's, scrutinizing, searching. Sam flushes again, for some reason, perhaps conscious of his hard gaze.

“How are you even real,” Dean chokes out, voice strangled. Sam stares back at him, bewildered, with slightly parted lips. “Tell me, please. Tell me that you’re here with me right here, right now. That you’re never gonna leave.”

Sam struggles to catch his breath as he whimpers,”I’m here. I’m here, Dean,” He gently presses his forehead against his brother’s, panting,”Not gonna leave you. Never. Never.”

Dean wanted to stay in that moment forever, wanted it be burned in his mind. So he took note of every single detail, even the most minute like the angle of the moon above, as he cradled his brother’s face in his palms. They finally broke apart at the sound of their motel door opening many yards away, nearly jumping apart as their father’s footsteps grew closer and closer. No matter where he was, fiction or reality, their father was always a constant source of interruption to their brotherly bonding.

Sam smiles shyly, speaking in a hushed tone,”To be continued.”

“I hope you’ve got your machete sharpened. You ever faced ghouls,” Dean asks fingers brushing against the latter’s hand.

“No.”

“You don’t want to,” Dean warns, sliding off the vehicle,”I’m guessing it’s the usual. Watch my back and I’ll watch your’s. And I’ll probably end up saving your ass as usual, you damn damsel.”

Sam scoffs at the jab. “I’d say you’re my knight, but aren’t knights supposed to be... chaste?”

“...Chaste?”

“Holy, in the fact, that they have no sex outside of marriage,” Sam chides with a knowing smile,”And in that they don’t screw their brother’s brain’s out.”

Dean frowns deeply, before conceding,”Okay, you got me there.”

——

The back of the tomb was a cave mouth of impenetrable blackness, as Dean stepped in he watched his shadow dissolve into the surrounding darkness. It was dank and the only sound was the dripping of water. Sam steps in front of both him and their father, leading them up a trail that had been created by many footprints. It was obscured by fallen rocks and piles of earth and sloped low into a valley.

The path halted and a spacious cave appeared. Old statues with garish faces of marble guarded the cave and concealed the entrance that was a jagged opening. Inside was dim although being lit by two small fires in the corner of the cave. In the center was a small roasting pot, a large slate of stone and in the far corner there was a small woven mat made with dried grass. In the gloom a hunch figure lurked.

Dean curls his fingers around Sam’s wrist, roughly pulling him away from the front, making a few rocks clatter. Sam gasps softly, surprised, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut, not making another sound. Dean takes out his flashlight and switches it on. The cave feels like a total void for without the artificial beam. There is not only no light but no sound or warmth.  
The flashlight beam hovers over the lurking figure, revealing the ghoul’s nearly translucent white skin, speckled with scarlet spots of long dried blood. The creature’s breathing is soft, but ragged, it’s bony chest shuddering and falling with great effort. Behind him, there’s a soft thud, barely a sound. Then above there were noises of excessive panting brought on by the anticipation of fresh meat, and the steady drip of the gelatinous saliva onto the dirt floor.

John cries out as a ghoul uncurls from the ceiling, dropping directly on top of him with a strangled yelp like a wounded dog. The ghoul attempts to drag him back deeper into the caves, the sounds of their struggles starting to muffle, when the seasoned hunter shoves the thing back into a wall, twirling his machete and taking its head with a spray of blood. Sam kicks another ghoul that comes darting from behind the jagged rock formation square in the chest, grunting in exertion.

“You good,” Dean yells, pulling his brother close.

“Fine,” Sam affirms, visibly shaken,”Go help dad.”

Dean opens his mouth to respond when he’s abruptly shoved against the wall, his own machete being pushed towards his throat. It’s mere millimeters away, the pale, slimy hand with long, curling yellow nails, pushing it closer with a soft hiss. Sam surges forward to go to his brother’s aid, when two ghouls grab his shoulder blades, forcing him to his knees with a scream.

“Sammy!” Dean roars, struggling against the inhuman strength holding him in place.

The ghoul to his little brother’s left runs his tongue down the trembling young man’s face, moaning,”Never tasted anything quite like this. He’ll do nicely.”

“The other two,” The other ghoul grumbles, licking his quivering lips as a string of saliva dribbles from his mouth,”We don’t want to get full?”

“We’ll eat our fill with the giant. Save the other two for when our mouths begin to water again,” The ghoul pinning him growls, slowly pressing into his throat, cutting off his air.

Sam whimpers, his eyes wide,”Dean...”

“No, you bastards. Take me,” John objects, struggling,”Take me!”

Dean chokes, clawing at the arm twisted around his throat. Sam is calling to him, struggling against his captors, his mouth twisting as he screams. There’s a single tear quickly running down his baby brother’s cheek, and those big, watery hazel hues never part from his own eyes. His vision is narrowing and blackening round the edges, and he heard the futile struggles of man against beast, but blackness was too busy swallowing him whole.

“...Sammy...”

One final agonized scream echoed in hearing as his eye lids went limp and all the lights went out.

——

Dean's eyes flew open, wide and searching. He blinked up at his father, body trembling, gaze pleading. His eyes darted around the massive underground chamber, and violent chill goes down his spine. As he looked around all he could see were stray limbs, great spurts of blood across the damp earth. There is a mustiness, a sudden damp coldness and the natural light is all choked up behind them like ale behind a cork.

“W-Wha...” Dean croaks.

John turns, but too slowly to be normal. When he speaks his voice trails slowly, like his words are unwilling to take flight. All his words are muffled, garbled, like they’re deep underwater. There is a sadness in his eyes, the dark brown too glossy.

The tiniest bit of light shines in the corner, his discarded flashlight, on the large jagged patch of stone. A mass of flesh was strewn over it; a body, with only its dangling arms visible. The fingers are curled up and coasted in dried blood, a rusty bucket under the limb filled to the brim with a stagnant pool of claret. He slowly trailed closer, bending to pick up his flashlight, allowing the beam to fully wash over the body.

Dean doesn’t make a sound as he slowly falls to his knees before Sam, dust stirring as he goes crashing down. Sam is laid out like a doll on his back across the rock, his wide eyes staring fixed and vacant, his arms sprawled out on either side with great gaping slits in the flesh, that have nothing left to shed. He picked up his hand, so cold and pale, touching it to his newly wet cheek, closing his eyes for just a moment.

Dean ravels his arms around his little brother’s limp body, gently raising him up and pulling him against his chest, so that his head rests over his shoulder. The hunter had always been so self-conscious when he cried but now he gave way to the enormity of his grief. He sobbed into his brother’s neck and the tears dripped down the cool skin, raining down onto the parched soil. His breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left his legs. He sank to his knees, cradling the body in his arms, not caring about the grit that dug into her knees.

Dean gently combs his fingers through the dirty, blood encrusted curls, supporting his limp neck in his palm. “You’re gonna be okay. Gonna take care of you,” He mumbles to himself,”Never let you down. Won’t this time, right? Til the end of the line, buddy...”

There’s a rustle of a movement against his check, a soft murmur,”Y-y-y-y-you...”

The hunter nearly sobs in relief, pulling away so that he can gaze down at his little brother. “Sammy,” He whispers, thumb trailing down his cheek,”It’s okay. Don’t talk...don’t talk. You’re gonna be good as new, okay? We’re gonna get you all fixed up.”

Sam shakes his head, coughing,”Y-you w-wanted t-t-to f...f-fuck m-me...” Dean’s eyes widen as Sam bursts into hysterical laughter,”You wanted to fuck me. You wanted to fuck me. You wanted to fuck me -“

“Stop it,” Dean growls softly, fisting his hands in the latter’s clothes. Then his hands are grasping at nothing, and his brother is standing several feet away, leaning against the cave wall.

Sam’s eyes flash blue, and Dean scrambles to get to his feet, snarling at the latter,”Djinn.”

The djinn chuckles lightly, wagging a finger at him as he admonishes,”I knew you weren't exactly right in the head. I've never met a hunter that doesn't have a few screws loose," He purrs his smirk melting into a thin line,"But, you... Dean, oh, you really take the cake. Most hunters I manage to pin down dream of mowing lawns and white picket fences, apple pies lives, so you weren't too different. The only problem was... you couldn't just let go of your whole brothers with benefits thing.“

Dean had his head bowed, and his jaw was clenched. He inquires,"...What do you care?"

"Oh, don't mistake my morbid little curiosity for caring," The djinn scoffs, nonchalantly picking at the dried blood down the side of his neck,"You see, I just find it a tiny bit funny. That you hunt monsters, but in reality, the real, ultimate monster is looking at you right in the funhouse mirror. Hide it, deny it, push it deep down, but the truth is as clear as glass. Your brother wasn't taken, Dean. He ran."

Dean's pupils flared as he throatily denies,"N-no... no. you don't have a damn idea what you're talking about!"

"I'm inside your broken egg of head - There is no lying to me. Only to yourself," The djinn proclaims,"Look back as far as you can remember. All of his life, in all of his fantasies, your brother has always ran. Far, far, away from... you."

Sam shakes his head, before choking out,” Because it’s me. Don’t you see? I’m the... the t-thing that’s broken here, Dean.”

Tears shimmered in Dean's eyes, but he refused to give this thing, this monster the satisfaction. The djinn didn't fail to notice the unshed tears and let out a little giggle, leaning in close, brushing his finger under the latter's eyes. He suckles at his finger, licking up the salty bead of water. "Good. Good," The djinn whispers in pleasure,"You finally see it, don't you? This forbidden love story you've written in your mind, is only that... a story. The reality is, your brother ran from you - From your touch, your words, your everything. Because you broke him —“

The djinn abruptly let’s out a strangled choke, his fingers going to his throat, clawing at the flesh. Blood foams from his lips, spewing in thick rivets to the ground, as he falls to his knees, writhing in pain. Then his skin began to dry rapidly, reducing itself to dust and collapsing in on itself, until the monster is nothing but ashes on the ground.

Dean closes his eyes, gasping as a bright stream of light erupts from the cave’s entrance, and hushed whispers beckons him towards it. The voice is soft, sweet, familiar, but barely a voice in the wind that tickles his ears. On unsteady feet he shakily stands, allowing the body to loll out of his reach, sprawling out onto the ground. He feels like he’s treading through deep water as he begins to walk away, towards the small tunnel leading out of the cavern. He fights every instinct, every twitching need to turn back and stay behind. The further he walks, the easier it gets, and the more light spills into the tunnel.

———

Someone is calling his name. It's dark and a musty smell tingles across his nostrils. Dean is hanging from the ceiling, eyes open. A blood bag hangs next to him. His eyes flicker towards the sun lite entrance, watching a shadowy figure depart, but when his eyes slip back closed, the image is lost to him.

"Wake up, boy!" There's blinding white hot pain across his face and the sound of a harsh slap resounds.

Dean grunts a little. His eyes begin to focus on the figure in front of him. "E-ellen…?"

Ellen gasps aloud, patting at his face as she chokes out, "Thank, God," She let's out a breath of relief, "I thought I lost you. You... you idiot! Insisting on taking this freak by yourself."

Dean groans aloud as Ellen begins working on his restraints. "T-the other hunter... is he...?"

"Dead," Ellen states bluntly, shaking her head,"Took the damn lead with him... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There had been a widening of eyes, his lips had parted just a touch, and he slumped in his bindings almost imperceptibly. Dean had stared back at Ellen, silent, before his eyes sweeped over the length of the other woman's body. "H-he's gone," He manages to spit out bitterly,"H-he was never taken. He ran."

“What,” Ellen utters, hand running down the side of his face,”You don’t what you’re talking about -“

“He ran,” Dean abruptly yells, making the latter jolt.

And, oh, how he ran. Ran from the monster that had no fangs or claws, no glowing yellow eyes, just armed with his predatory grin and his bare hands. In his mind he can head how his little brother screams, and screams, and screams. Runs faster.

Dean gasped as he felt the tears trickling down his cheeks, and brushed his finger across them absentmindedly. "Sammy."


	4. Never Want To Put My Feet Back Down

**October 2005**

The hunter-made prison cell was barely ten feet by fifteen. The walls were the same thick white concrete as the other dwellings in the hall, but instead of a wide window of clear glass like the rest, this glass was much thicker with deep red painted symbols scrawled over every inch of the glass, nearly obscuring the view within. It was no brighter inside than the gathering gloom of dusk, even at midday. And the cell was either suffocatingly quiet or pierced with the screams of tortured inmates - Right now, one could hear a pen drop.

The decor was nothing to marvel at either. The bed was a plank of wood on legs, there was no mattress, no cushioning and only one thin blanket. Though unlike the rest of the cells, there were other amenties no others had. The cell is by far the most well furnished with a large book case that is overfilled with various volumes, some spilling out onto the floor, creating neat piles that are at least a few feet high. But next to the tall, svelte occupant of the cell, the stacks of books look like mole hills next to a mountain.

Sam Winchester, also known as the main attraction of the flannel-ridden prison, lay on his back on the cold medical table, a small, itchy cotton blanket his only form of cushioning. His wrists are tucked at his sides in warded chains, the metal digging into the already raw, nearly skinned flesh, and his legs are bolted to the table with built in manacles. A thick strap of leather with black stitching in the form of a Key of Solomon devil’s trap. A biting insult that kept his jaw kept tightly clamped, despite the fact he was clearly well enough contained. His lips part every so slightly at the sound of heavy boot steps outside his door, and the screeching metal of his door makes him flinch.

“Wakey-wakey, Sammy,” One of the hunters yells, letting out a barking laugh. His hot breath is close to his neck, the stench of stale cigarettes and sugary chocolate not a favorable combination.

Sam tests his jaw as the leather strap is undone to be readjusted, and the warding glanced over. “Hmm, Kubrick,” He drawls slowly, crinkling his nose,”I could pin that stench of self righteous and imminent diabetes anywhere.”

There’s a deep, rumbling chuckle from the hunter, then there’s a solid ‘whack’ of flesh on flesh as his fist meets his stomach. Sam doesn’t so much as flinch, much less scream like a stuck piglet as the hunter does. “Fuck,” Kubrick curses, no doubt nursing his fist,”It’s like punching lead.”

Sam rolls his eyes behind the thick bandages. “Moron.”

“I see you’re chatty this morning. Most I’ve heard in months,” He whispers into this ear as he yanks the strap right around his jaw, the cross hung around his neck bumping against the latter’s chest. A soft hiss escapes him; the cross no doubt left its sacred mark,”Aside from screams. Head secured!”

“Okay,” Comes another gruff voice, and suddenly cold, calloused hands are patting down his chest and arms, easing down his long, winding legs,”Limbs secure. What are we prepping him for?”

“Dr. Visyak,” Kubrick answers, his smarmy smile evident in the timbre of his voice,”You know she never misses an opportunity to play with her favorite toy. But you’ve never handled this one. Have you?”

There’s a beat, then a soft,”No.”

“Hmm. But you did know him before,” Kubrick inquires, curious.

“So what if I did? Half the friggin’ hunters did,” The other hunter demands, not bothering to hide his growing agitation,”Let’s just get this procedure done.”

A scoff and suddenly he’s moving. “Whatever, Singer.”

Sam really tried to act as if he was not genuinely surprised, hopeful even. Of what, he couldn’t say, but hope was an emotion he thought he’d long lost familiarity with and it was nice to feel once again. Even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint it’s origin. Unfortunately, he was never an acclaimed actor, the prime reason he worked behind the scenes in his theater days.

From the sounds around him, he was being transported down the long line of cells. He could hear his fellow inmates; the shadowy occupants pacing, muttering in their cells. Bobby jolts when all of a sudden a dark figure in the next-to-last cell hurtles towards him, his face mashing grotesquely against his bars as he hisses.

Kubrick chuckles,”Don’t let them startle you, Singer. The newer ones are always the roughest, but after a little while they all start to behave like this one,” Kubrick pinches Sam’s cheek giving it a little twist,”Like a dog with its balls cut off.”

“What’s this,” Bobby inquires as they go to a rumbling halt.

Sam whimpers, struggling against his bonds frantically as he recognizes the soft hiss of gas from the chambers above.

“Holy water gas chambers. Specially designed for our more hell acclimated inmates. Usually tuckers them out, so that they’re not doing their usual kicking and screaming,” Kubrick answers, chuckling at the sight of Sam writhing in his restraints,”Tellin’ you your mother sucks cock in hell, or some other line from the Exorcist.”

As the gas began to pump in the air became more dense and the air was tinged with a white mist. Immediately Sam’s skin begins to sizzle and great blisters burst open in his skin, oozing blood and puss the longer he stays under the intense concentration of the gas. In his intense silence he somehow screamed with his whole body. The eyes wide with horror, the jaw rigid with a vein popping, his chalky face gaunt and immobile. His fists are clenched with blanched knuckles and his nails deeply scratch into the metal of the table.

“It stops when he screams,” Kubrick utters, watching with rapt fascination the little ticks of pain throughout the latter’s body,”Come on, Sammy...we always play this game. We have somewhere to be so let’s make it quick.”

Bobby sounds irritated, growling,”Is this really -“

“I must have my scream. It’s his choice, not mine,” Kubrick interupts, his voice cold,”...I wonder if I keep it up long enough...if it’ll eventually burn away the skin entirely. If we’d be able to see the muscles and bone at work...”

“Cut it out...now. Now,” Bobby demands lowly, his voice barely a snarl.

“No. Not until he gives me what I want...”

Bobby whispers so softly, it’s barely perceptible to even Sam’s far advanced hearing,”One scream. One little scream, that’s all, boy.”

The scream tore through Sam like a great shard of glass. He felt his eyes widen behind the thick mask of bandages, and his pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rabbit running for its skin. The blood drained from his face, and before he was even aware of making a conscious decision, his legs were pounding furiously ahinst the bonds holding them to the table. His eyes were welled up to the brim with the painful heat of tears, the moisture absorbing into the cloth, as he quietly wept.

Sam’s wounds were already scabbing over, the skin shedding to reveal a fresh patch underneath. In seconds his skin is a soft unnatural pale hue again without a single blemish. The pain is long gone, but still beneath the cover of his blinder, he still allows the tears the flow.

———

"Will you speak with me today, Samuel,” Dr. Visyak takes a seat and glances at the file on hand, turning a page or two disdainfully,”That is what they call you, correct? Or perhaps you go by a nickname of some sort. Sam, maybe Sammy -“

Sam interrupts, bluntly telling her,”It’s Sam. Just...Sam.”

“Sam,” Dr. Visyak repeats softly, before turning to Kubrick and Bobby who are both guarding the door,”Remove the bandages. And I don’t want to hear a thing that resembles an argument leave your lips.”

When Kubrick doesn’t step forward voluntarily, Bobby goes to stand in front of Sam, carefully taking the end of the bandage and he begins to unwind it. When nothing is left to obscure his vision, he still kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, for he was fearful of the penetrating light above. He slowly cracks open his lids until they’re barely slits, peaking at the room around him, his yellow orbs glowing in perverse eagerness.

Sam kept his silence as he studied the woman before him. The older woman had worn black slacks and a short-sleeved white button-up shirt to this meeting – what she might, in her own mind, term her professional clothes, he suspected. Her graying hair was pinned up in a small bun that no doubt was just about all she could manage with the thinning, dry strands. All he saw was a fossil of a hunter, another semi educated individual who thought themselves clever enough to dissect him. To prove that behind the run down shoes and cheap perfume, that they were something that rose over and above man kind, that could stand against a monster.

Dr. Visyak stood up straight and truly looked at him in the eyes, a first for sure. “Strange...I’ve never seen a demon with this form of pigmentation,” She barely takes her acrylic nails down his temple, resting her thumb in the corner of his eye,”Yellow. From what I’ve seen in your blood work, I’d surmise that’s from an accumulation of sulfur in your blood. Would I be correct?”

Sam slowly nods, keeping his piercing, yellow orbs downcast on the floor. The good doctor carefully pulls her hand away, her nails tapping on the wooden table beneath her palm.

“Do you mind if I sit, Sam?"

"By all means, make yourself comfortable,” Sam replies, his voice bitter. She sat slightly forward in the chair, her back arrow-straight,”At least one of us will be.”

Sam was rewarded with a smile. No teeth showing, but a smile nonetheless, at least until it faded to a frown.

"I feel as though I should be expressing my sympathies for your current circumstances, Sam, which puts me in a rather awkward position,” Dr. Visyak voices, her hands folded over a file stuffed to the brim with papers,”You were one of us...once, so I understand that you must be frustrated with your treatment. It’s cruel, even I can see that. Like sending a domesticated dog into the wild, expecting it to know how to hunt.”

Sam lifts his gaze up, snorting with obvious doubt,”You find it difficult, as a hunter and a doctor, to see what you deem to be a monster in chains.”

"I can hardly say I wish you were in chains,” She gestured to the bare walls surrounding him, sweeping her hands towards him,”You are just a boy. But though I can't say I'm pleased with the methods we are being forced to use, hopefully the outcome will benefit us. As I said before, you were one of us once, so I hope you...of all your fellow inmates...will understand.”

Sam stares long and hard at the latter, his expression dulled, before he states,”I appreciate the thought, but you needn't concern yourself. I do understand,” He lifts his head up, his hues burning as he looks intently into her eyes,”...I’ve been made to. I am to be judged by what am I, rather than what I’ve done. Tell me, what crimes have I committed that warrant me being in chains?”

“...Sam...you’re a smart young man, and a former hunter. You should understand better than anyone - You are a supernatural creature, a powerful one at that, so you cannot simply - !”

“I do not misunderstand what you’re saying! I just want to know why,” Sam stresses as his face contorts with a flash of anger,”Chains are for the guilty. The only thing I’m guilty of, is being the product of a demon deal, of being born!”

To describe the good doctor’s facial expression would be like describing a blank sheet of paper. She could have been in a coma for all the life her face showed.

She at last speaks with a great strain in her voice, her friendly demeanor crumbling,”I’ve read over your file. Attacking staff is not acceptable -“

“Technically they attacked each other -“

“-and you’re lucky the punishment was not more severe. Had it been any other inmate they would have been shot on sight, but you, you’re one of our top subjects,” She hisses, undeterred,”If anything I’d say you’re getting special treatment.”

Hate and enmity welled up in his heart, fury itself burning him up.

“...Y-yeah,” Sam admits feebly,”I-I...s-s-suppose...I-I am... Y-you ju-ju...just - You just killed Scott outright.”

The doctor looks confused, but realization quickly dawns on her face. “The subject who was with you during the raid. He was not killed,” She denies with a thoughtful shake of her head,”What happened to him was an accident. He -“

“-had a name!” Sam shouts, spit flying from his mouth,”Scott. Scott Carey! Why won’t you just say his damn name -“

Curious, she inquires,”Did someone tell you that, Sam? You haven’t exactly been able to roam...How did you know?”

“...I saw it.”

“From your cell? Perhaps you saw his body being removed from his,” A simple shake of his head. She smiles, taking her pencil and scribbling something down,”Well done, Sam. The things we do now they may seem cruel, unfair, but it’ll all make sense...in time. There is a great conflict coming, and with our current methods we can hardly win a battle, much less a war. This goes far beyond you or I...”

”You’re so eager to study me. To dissect what I am and what I can do. I’ll give you a demonstration,” Sam slowly lifts his head up, his piss yellow eyes blazing as he hisses, his voice thunder with no sound, reverberating with authority,”...Take that pencil and stab it into your neck.”

Dr. Visyak gasps as her hand unwillingly fumbles for her pencil, taking it in a nearly unbreakable grip. With a sideways snap of her arm, she plunged it into the side of her neck, twisting it there. There was a strangled choke, followed by her gurgling as blood foamed from her painted lips spilling onto the metal table, pooling at her palms.

Sam casually reached over, and seized the pencil. The pencil was dislodged and thrown across the room, blood spattering the table. “We’re all monsters, doctor,” He says softly, watching her jerk and spasm as she scrabbles her hands over her neck,”Some are just better at hiding their claws and fangs than others. Me...I’ve grown wary of playing nice with humans, especially when they don’t repay the favor.”

**November 2005**

Dean Winchester has followed Bobby Singer’s written directions, he’s crushing that same sticky note in his fist now, to the crossing of the t’s and the dotting of the i’s. It had taken three hours, two more hours than it was supposed to, to navigate through the great expanse of woods that kept the gargantuan warehouse so well hidden. He’d never claimed to be good with directions, especially when they were written by what looked to be a chicken with a pen duct tapped to its foot.

‘No cars,’ They’d said, so he had to park at the mouth of the woods and venture in by himself. He was soaked to the bone with the heady stench of sweat with little scratches all over his exposed forearms, his signature too-big leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He’s relieved, panting like a big dog left in the heat, as he lays his eyes on the warehouse.

The corrugated iron roof was domed some thirty-five feet above him, like a shanty-town cathedral, but he knows all the business goes on down stairs. A chain-like fence surrounds the massive structure, little hex bags wedged into the wiring and several wooden boards with sit-ups and warding painted in bright red paint on them. He sees the way the red clots and realizes that it’s blood. Massive headlights are mounted on makeshift towers that are built on every corner of the fence, but in broad daylight they’re not of much use.

There’s a loud buzz as one of the men in the hulking towers catches sight of him. His fist slams against a button and a key is twisted, then the gate is sliding open, the grinding of gears shredding his ear drums as he flinches. A figure in the distance is making his way towards him, jogging at a light pace. The figure becomes more visible and recognition sets in and a smile tugs at his lips as he chuckles.

“Bobby,” Dean greets, meeting the seasoned hunter halfway,”Careful with that jogging. Don’t need you kicking the bucket any earlier than planned.”

Bobby claps him on the back, his eyes twinkling. “It’s been too long, boy,” He states with the smallest of smiles,”Way too long. I just about didn’t believe it when I got your call. I was sorry to hear about your daddy, I've had all my feelers out.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Dean says shortly as he follows the latter up the cracked concrete trail, shrugging on his leather jacket.

“It only took you til Christmas,” Bobby says with a roll of his eyes, agitated,”These hunters, they ain’t like the lot you’ve hung around all your life. They don’t like visitors, not one bit. Do you know how many teeth I had to pull, just to get them to let you drop by —“

Dean scoffs, fishing out his crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Maybe you should have given intelligible directions,” He tells him, sticking one in between his teeth, patting his jeans trying to find his lighter,”They, uh, don’t have some bullshit no smoking policy, do they?”

Something about that must have been funny because Bobby let’s out a wry chuckle, shaking his head. “Boy, with all the pissed-off big bads they’ve got shoved in here, a little bit of lung cancer is the least of their worries,” He informs him curtly, before shifting his attention,”But when did you start smoking?”

Dean fumbles to flick the lighter to life, at last succeeding and guiding it to the edge of his cigarette. “Not too long. Few years maybe,” He says, taking a quick puff,”You?”

“Nicotine patches,” Bobby states, rolling up the sleeve of his jean jacket, revealing a large white square plastered on his lower wrist,”I’m tryin’ to quit. Tryin’, but failing.”

Dean fiddles with the cigarette between his teeth, takes it out and rolls it between his fingers. A bad nervous habit he’s only recently developed. He flicks the ashes off, and takes another deep inhale, his eyes closing. He follows the seasoned hunter towards the entryway, watches with piqued curiosity as he makes several signs with his hands to a security camera a few feet over his head.

“You sure you want to do this,” Bobby asks over the buzz of the door as it slowly creaks open,"There are other ways to find people. You ain't got to make a deal with the devil just yet."

“No. Hell no, I don't want to do this,” Dean says shortly. He abruptly throws the cigarette to the ground, avoids the latter’s eyes,”I’ve cashed in just about every favor with every damn hunter I know to keep as far away from this cursed place as I could. Now look at me, marching up the steps without a gun to my back.”

Bobby’s mouth is a thin line as he repeats,”You ain’t got to do this, boy."

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replies, and runs a hand over the back of his neck. He’s lead down a flight of stairs with only a flickering light above as a guide,”Even if there was another way... My brother, my responsibility. And I’ve been ducking that too long.”

"You haven't seen him since the raid. From what I've seen, he doesn't take too kindly to visitors. Probably the only prisoner who prefers solitary confinement, "Bobby informs him, his doubt evident. He leads him down the stairs with practiced ease, his head turned slightly so he can analyze the latter’s facial expression, "Your brother, that little boy, he's been gone. A long time, I suspect. Don't expect anything else."

"No. No, of course I don't. It’s just... just..." Dean trails off, not able to find the words in the scrambled mess that is his mind,”It’s Sam.”

"You haven’t seen him," Bobby says, he tries to keep his tone even but Dean can hear it. The pure, unadulterated fear creeping in the edges,”Haven’t looked into those eyes. There's a reason they keep them covered up now."

With a familiar sinking feeling, Dean utters,”I don’t know what to prepare myself for,” He stops at another door, waiting for it to buzz open,”I only know what I’ve heard. Nothing good.”

The door swings open on creaking hinges to reveal a long hallway sloping gently downwards. Kubrick and a woman he doesn’t recognize is waiting on them, the man wearing the typical hunter uniform of flannel, torn jeans, and a deep set frown that took a lot to budge, while the woman is wearing a casual business outfit with a stark white lab coat. Dean doesn’t recognize the woman instantly, but he hasn’t exactly been on anyone’s radar lately. One of them, the woman, gives him a quick once over then approaches him for a full pat down.

“Hands behind your head,” The older woman orders, giving him a none too gentle shove towards one of the concrete walls.

"Just be easy on the goods," Dean replies with a wink,"I've only got my looks."

Dean obeys and grunts as she roughly untucks his undershirt and gives it a quick shake. She inspects his hands, arms, shoulder and neck. feeling the slight bulge of his amulet under his shsirt, she roughly yanks it ovr his head, nearly choking him, before slapping it over the metal counter. She slides her hand across his chest, then sweeps his armpit and bottom the bottom of his chest. She closely examines his waistband area, sliding the back of her hand over the top of his groin and buttocks, below the waistband. She presses and releases his outer hips and the outside of each leg, finally standing up, giving the man a slight nod.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me,” Dean inquires with a cheeky grin.

The older woman doesn’t reply, and turns to the other man,”One pack of cigarettes, a lighter, keys, wallet, the usual. Some kind of amulet. Other than that he’s clear.”

Kubrick drags his eyes over him, his lip jutted, before he tells the woman,”Take the lighter and the keys," His eyes narrow, and he abruptly slides out a wicked looking blade from a sheath at his hip. He just then notices a thick layer of bandages over the side of his neck,"Hand. Now."

Dean almost groans aloud at the ridiculous measures he was having to consent to in order to have a nice chat with his wayward brother. He sticks his hand forward without complaint, wincing as the blade is drawn across his palm, the holder cutting through the flesh without care as blood weeps from the wound. Large driblets smack onto the glaring white of the floor, sticking out like a sore thumb. Then just when he thinks he's passed all the tests, literal salt is rubbed into the wound along with a dash of holy water. A good recipe to piss off Dean Winchester.

The woman nods, placing the listed items in a small metal tray that's on the table. "Is he good," At the man's nod, she turns towards the other two hunters, informing them,"Alright. I'll take you two down."

Dean takes his amulet off the counter, lifting it over his head and gently settling it over his chest, unconciously gripping it. The woman leads them down a dimly lit hallway with white painted concrete walls, a great array of sigils and spell work imprinted around the line of cells. The cells were hollow cubes of concrete, one way in, a large pane of glass keeping them open to the world. Imprisoned in one of them, one could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, unless given.

"My name is Doctor Eleanor Visyak, and I am head of the research team here," Doctor Visyak introduces herself, not bothering to turn around, keeping up her brisk walk,"I specialize in the study of monsters, specifically medieval ones, but I'm the closest thing to a 'professional' our line of work has. I'll be going over the physical procedures with you, though you should already be well aware of them, Mr. Singer."

"I take you won't be up for a drink after this," Bobby inquires with one eyebrow raised.

"Hmph. Back on subject, even with the rules I can't guarantee your safety. Only the stupidly curious or the suicidal actually visit our inmates," The doctor informs him coolly, her eyes narrowed at him,"Do not touch the glass or get closer than a foot. The sigils only do so much to keep some of their powers at bay. Don't give the inmate anything or take anything. But most importantly, make sure he never takes the bandages off of his eyes, if he does alert someone immediately and vacate the area."

Dean nods in acknowledgement, flinching when a dark, oozing mass slams itself against the glass. It sinks back to the ground with a hiss, leaving a streak of gelatin-like green liquid, its needle sharp teeth scratching the glass. "So, what is exactly the point of imprisoning monsters," He questions,"Do you just poke and prod at them - See what makes them tick?"

"We do study them," Doctor Visyak confirms, before continuing with a deep inhale,"This containment facility was designed by the greatest minds of the hunting community, and funded by a few frightful millionaires who didn't care for ghosts interrupting their games of croquet. But not even the brightest of us haven't been able to find ways to effectively kill these monsters. So here, they're not killed, they're just contained, so they can't go Godzilla on any city they please."

Dean stops as Doctor Visyak abruptly stops walking, finally turning to him, a curl of her ash blonde hair falling from her tight bun. "Anything else," He questions, feeling small under her steely gaze.

"The inmate...he’s your brother?"

"Once, maybe," Dean answers honestly.

Doctor Visyak tucks the stray piece of hair behind her ear, closing her eyes for a second, before telling him,"Sam Winchester is a curious thing to be sure. A real wild card among our other inmates,” She walks a little faster, her voice going higher,”He has powers that far exceed those of your common demon, and that are on par with some of hell’s most elite. With the tests we’ve run, I’ve seen him perform remarkable feats that are certainly not humanly possible, and perhaps not even demonically possible.”

“So what... you’re saying he’s some kind of demonic Superman?”

The doctor snorts. “Sam is our most prized asset here. He's offered insight into the true build and function of demons, that no one has ever been able to see," She turns on her heel and continuing to walk, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor,"Be wary of him. Don't ever forget what he is, and he'll never be able to use it against you."

They go through a darker, even grimmer area with heavy grids over the lights. Distant slams sound in the corridor, and faint, hoarse shouts that make them walk more briskly. The doctor slows her gait and hands him a dog-eared photo, looking pleased when he stops in his tracks.

“There’s a reason why we insist on such precautions...we learned them over time,” Dr. Visyak states stiffly, looking disturbed,”He used to be allowed yard time with the other inmates, but that privilege was quickly revoked. A few weeks after he was captured, he was walking around the yard, when several inmates ganged up and attacked him. One, a werewolf, had his neck broken with the same effort you or I would put towards twisting the cap off of a water bottle. When guards tried to intervene...”

Dean stares at the photo still in his hand, getting the point. It pictures a man on a metal table with the flesh stripped from half of his face, not cleanly, but with great. sweeping marks that mar the skin surrounding the wound.

His throat has chunks ripped out, so the inner throat visble and gaping under the light above.

“He did that?”

“No,” The doctor reveals, her hand unconsciously hovering over the mass of bandages covering her neck,”He made the guards do it to each other. A unique ability of his...manipulation.”

Dean gulps thickly, asking,"Just what is he?"

"...He is a monster. It's as simple as that," Doctor Visyak states coldly, no remorse or pity in her voice, whatsoever,"But I've never studied anything like him. A hybrid. A human boy with demon blood," She halts again, her breath shuddering from her lips,"This is where we stop. He's in the last door to the right.”

Bobby gives him one last comforting pat on the shoulder, telling him with a grim tone,”Don't make yourself do anything you don't want to. See what he knows, then get the hell out of dodge. Okay?"

Dean gives him a shirt, curt nod, clapping his back in return. "Yeah," He breathes in sharply, flexing his fingers at his sides,"Yeah. No worries.”

The final door, leading to what he assumes to be the maximum security inmates, buzzes and the light beside it goes red. Without pause Dean pushes with his body weight, but he needn't have, it swings open soundlessly and with ease. A draft of air hits his face, cold and with a tincture of bleach. From ahead come muffled voices, some angry, some placating. He dares to glance at the glass of one of the cubic rooms, and meets a pair of beady black eyes.

The demon slams up against the glass, his nose shattering against it with an audible snap of bone and a gush of blood. He jolts almost imperceptibly, but enough to make the demon giggle as he taps a boney finger against the glass. He keeps on walking, the quiet 'thump, thump' of the finger hitting the glass fading out of ear shot. He slows his gait when he realizes that he's at the end of the hallway, a dead-end with only a concrete wall.

Dean slowly turns to his right, facing the final door. He opens it and is immediately lead into a room with a great slate of bullet-proof glass separating it in half. The prisoner within the cell is turned to face him, though a thick book is visible in his hand, his long fingers displayed over the yellowing pages. His stark white jumpsuit is tight on his muscled body, stretching as he moves smoothly, like a lion trailing its prey. His thick chestnut colored waves that reach the base of his neck are partially creased by bandages that wrap around his skull. The skin that can be seen is a soft, milky color that almost glows in the dull fluorescent light above.

"You still wear it, after all this time," The prisoner utters, some of his face obscured by the particularly thick volume. The side of his face is visible, firm jawline, plush pomegranate lips, and sharp cheekbones.

The hunter's lip part ever so slightly and he greets,”Hey, Sammy.”

The prisoner let's out a low chuckle that rumbles in his throat, dropping the book to reveal the entirely of his face, his long hair swishing as he does so. His face is directed at him, as if the bandages aren't even doing a thing to obscure his vision. He reels at the sight of his little brother - sweet, beautiful little brother - with his hidden gaze and false smile. Unconsciously his hand drifts down to the amulet that is hidden underneath his shirt, clutching at it like a priest would their rosary.

  
“They hide my eyes like that’s going to stop me from seeing, but I don’t need eyes to see,” The prisoner states plainly, like he’s glancing into his mind,"But don’t you remember? It was the last thing I said to you, when I saw your amulet. Before they shoved me into this godforsaken hole and threw away the hole..."

"No. I-I don’t...”

"Of course. You don't remember," Sam asserts in a sickly sweet voice, "How convenient. You remember so little, brother. Small mind, little space, I guess."

Dean purses his lips at that, replying,"I see isolation hasn't made you lose your... unique sense of humor."

The smile that is drawn across Sam's lips looks as if a finger as it at either side of his mouth, forcing it to take form. "Isolation is nothing new to me. Now," His voice is cold, detached, like he's reading off a script, and he slowly turns to him,"As I recall, you’re not on my approved list of visitors."

“Didn’t you hear,” Dean inquires sarcastically,”Family reunion.”

Sam gives a grin that’s all teeth,”Your sense of humor hasn’t changed either. Though that felt a little...forced,” He purrs like a cat that’s just caught a plump mouse in his claws,”Your heart-It’s fluttering like a bird in your chest. Why are you afraid? You’re not the one in chains, brother mine.”

"So why are your eyes covered. I’ve only heard rumors," Dean asks distantly, changing the subject, his own voice sounding as if it were coming from under water,"With all the warding in here it just seems like…" His mouth goes dry, and his voice stutters out. He feels sick.

"Overkill," Sam finishes, no doubt rolling his eyes under the thick bandages, "I said so myself. That earned me a nice hose down with holy water," He scoffs, promptly slouching to the floor with his long legs crossed, propping himself up on his elbows, "You know how hunters are. They're so superstitious, thinking that everything slightly out of the realm of possibility is supernatural. In actuality, just a little too much sulfur in the blood. You know I heard a guard telling a wonderful story about how my eyes are yellow from all the men I’ve made piss their pants...”

“And the truth?”

Sam looks surprised for a split second, before his face is blank as a slate. “I wouldn’t know. People just look into them and lose control,” He explains with a smirk,”I never know what they’ll lose control over, bowels or tongue.”

Dean grabs a chair that's sitting in the far corner of the wall, spinning it around and sitting in it with his chest leaning against the back. "Nice cell. How'd you manage this?"

"Good behavior," Sam tells him promptly, leaning forward, "Comparatively speaking, anyway. Or have you not met any of my other friends?"

"Friends. Is that what they are?"

Sam chuckles, "Oh, Dean. Jealous," He let's out a dramatic sigh, watching the horror on the latter's features unfold,"Always were the type, weren’t you?“

A furious blush burns on Dean's face, there's an angry tick in his jaw, and he hisses,"Stop it. Now," His voice is low as he seethes, his eyes flickering back and forth between the camera overhead and his brother before him,"Don’t do that. Don’t bring that up - Not here, not now...”

"I would tell you not to get your panties in a wad, but it was always me that wore those, at your request -"

Dean slams him palm against the glass, barking,"I said stop!"

Sam at last falls silent, his lips a thin line as he slowly goes to his feet, towering over the seated man. “If all you came for was an awkward family reunion, I’d like to finish this chapter...” He trails off, picking up his book and giving it a slight shake, before waiting for his brother to inform him otherwise. Impatient he picks up,”Unless I wasn’t made aware I‘m allowed conjugal visits, but even then, I am almost positive you don’t wish to rub fronts any time soon...”

There's something simply off about this Sam. All his friendly demeanor and radiating warmth, gone. Replaced with blood as cold as a frigid ocean and a face of stone.

“First, you can’t read without eyes. Second, you’re sure in a hurry to get me out,” Dean realizes, one brow raised,”Come on, I thought we were having a good visit, little brother.”

Sam tilts his head, a smirk low on his lips,”We’re done here, Dean. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our rare, coveted meetings, but they’re best in small doses.”

Dean shakes his head, objecting,”No. I’m not finished,” He steps closer to the glass, far closer than permitted an open challenge,”I did come here for a reason. I just have one question to ask, before I tell you, and you’re gonna answer honestly.”

Sam actually looks a little curious, the anonymity of the question easily reeling him in. He sweeps open his arms and tells him,”Ask.”

“After all this time, do you feel anything for us? Your family, your real family,” Dean questions his eyes skimming over his brother frantically, trying to track any of his brother’s known tells,”Me and Dad.”

"...I would like to think I do," Sam answers simply,"I did. Once. Maybe. But all those messy emotions, they were crushed down like a wave beating over a rock. It took time, but now... they're reduced to grains. There, but barely visible.”

Dean doesn't have the slightest idea just how he is supposed to reply to that. He does manage a snide response, trying to use the bitterness of his voice to mask the bubbling feelings rising within him. "You went through hell, I get it. What you went through, what you’re still going through, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy," He scoffs, his breath smudging the glass that’s covered in runes and symbols that Dean doesn't even recognize, "But you won't see me shedding a single damn tear for you. Not now, not ever because it’s not about what you went through, it’s what it turned you into. Plenty have gone through worse and still came out whole, but you let them break you. Let them turn you into...this.”

Out of all their exchanges during the visit, it was that which had finally wiped that smirk right off Sam’s face. His knuckles went white m from clenching his fists too hard, and his hunched, lax form suddenly straight as a tower. His little brother exuded a power that was like acid - burning, potent. No doubt his piss yellow eyes were blazing behind the layers upon layers of bandages.

“Say it,” The voice was unexpected. It was low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of more power than Dean expected.

Dean's face twists, but he gulps heavily, uttering,"Say what?”

"Oh, don't hold back, now," Sam croons, slightly tilting his head to his left, one of his fingers resting on his chin,"If you're going to loathe me, fear me for what I am, I want to see you at least have the balls to say it. What am I, dear brother?"

"...A monster."

Sam's expression doesn't twitch as he replies,"Hmm. I'm not a monster, nor am I human...so don't get your hopes up there. No," He intertwines his fingers, resting them over his stomach,"I'm something better."

"Better," Dean repeats, peeved,"No, you're just evil."

"Oh, you say the word as if it's supposed to carry some great weight behind it. In reality, good and evil..." Sam slowly comes to his feet, going on,"...those terms were made by very small-minded humans who feared a god who had long since abandoned them. The world isn’t as simple as good and evil. We all have light and dark in us. It only matters what we choose, and even then...it can change at the flip of a coin.”

Dean comments dryly, scoffing,”You know you used to believe in that same god. I remember you used to bow your head, fold your little hands, and rest your hand on the bed...murmuring about blessings,” He shakes his head,”You prayed every night. Now, you don’t even believe in the guy -“

“I do believe in him. I just don’t particularly like him,” Sam corrects him, crossing the small length of his room to take a seat on his bed,”When you’ve seen what I have, you’d be an idiot not to,” He turns his back to him, scooping up the thick volume he’d been reading before,”Goodbye, Dean.”

"We’re not done here yet,” Dean growls, his lips curled into a snarl. He shakes his head, running his hand across his forehead, before continuing with a sigh,"I need to ask something of you, really ask -“

“Aw, and here I thought you’d just come to see little old me. Spit it out, and go.”

“...Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam's lips part, the tiniest of breaths escaping his lips, and then he frowns deeply. "Okay. I'll play along... what does this have to do with me?"

"Demons, they talk about you, you know," Dean starts hesitantly, gently placing his palm against the glass,”I haven’t met a single hunter who hasn’t heard their chatter, the rumors. Azazel's Chosen One. The Prodigy. The Boy King of Hell. You tell them to take a nosedive into the pit, and they ask how well done you want their meatsuits."

"Oh, God. You're serious," Sam realizes, his lips parting as a small breath leaves,"You actually expect me to help...That is the stupidest thing that has ever left your perfect lips.”

"Sam --"

Sam turns his back to him, stating coldly,"Even now, there are a handful of things that I would do for you. We are brothers, formerly with benefits, as much as you to try and write it away," He walks towards one of the more unstable towers of books, taking a smaller thin volume from the middle,"But I will not help you find... him. He is as much of a father to me, as a sheep is to a wolf cub. He tried to control me, tried to make me push down my fangs and claws. I am more free now in this shithole, then I ever was under his roof."

Dean smacks his palm against the glass, his boiling anger rising when the latter doesn't even jump. "No. No! You are not doing this. You are not slithering back into your hole," He snarls, spit splatting against the glass,”Damn it!”

“Stop by anytime you like. Though preferably without hidden agendas next time,” A loud creak of metal echoes throughout the room, and the door opens right on time.

Dean turns around to see Bobby opening the door with Dr. Visyak in toe, his hand resting on the side panel of the door. When Dean shows no sign of moving, Bobby gently places a hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly. Not a suggestion, apparently. Dean gives a quick glance over his shoulder just as the heavy metal door begins to close behind him, and Sam is still sitting on his bed with his book in hand.

Even in the dim light of the then flickering light bulb above, Dean saw his bared teeth. It was a cheshire grin of sorts, the kind that was so wide it was more as if he wanted to eat him rather than say “goodbye”. In that moment his motives were laid bare; he was a monster, a thing that had eaten his real brother whole.


	5. I’m Taking a Ride

**November 2005**

Dean passes through that same hallway again, flipping the same demon off as it lunges against the glass spitting and hissing in tongues. When the warded panel of glass comes into view in a slow arc, he feels sweat begin to build from nearly every crevice of his body. He shifts in his many lawyers, gulping obnoxiously loud, and sticks a finger under his collar, adjusting it as he cranes his neck.

When Sam comes into view, he’s laying on his back, his arms folded behind his head, and his considerably long legs are straight in the air with his bed frame easily balanced on his bare feet. Not acknowledging his presence, he bends his legs down lowering the gargantuan frame to where it’s nearly touching his chest, before lifting it back into the air again without so much as a labored breath. Dean clears his throat loudly and with a conceding huff Sam lowers to frame back down onto the ground, and slowly gets back to his feet.

The hunter beside him produces a key from his belt and slowly slides it into the lock of the door beside the glass panel. He slowly pushes it open and holds it open for him, his eyes glued to the floor. His brother is now leaning against the wall, one foot propped up with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Ah, back for round two. And this time we can even breath the same air! Ah, you never could take a ‘no’ very well,” Sam says enthusiastically, turning his head to Dean,”Could you, brother mine?”

Dean nearly bites his tongue, picking up on the teasing undertones regarding their sordid history. “You act like you still somehow know me,” He starts, taking a seat on the bed frame, shifting uneasily,”...Like you could ever know me, again.”

“Oh, Dean, don’t kid yourself. I know you better than you’ll ever know yourself, despite everything that’s gone down,” Sam assures him with a a tiny quirk of his lips, giving him a peak at his dimples,”You just never knew me.”

In the dark halls of the prison the only source of light came from the flickering white bulbs above their heads in the cell. The pale light made Sam's pale, sun-starved skin gleam ivory and brought out the golden threads in his mess of chestnut hair until it shone like sunlight, and made his damp lips shine like ripe pomegranates. The sight of it all made his stomach clench up. He had forgotten, over the many years, how uniquely handsome his baby brother really was. Or perhaps it was his regurgitating feelings that made him look so achingly gorgeous.

“But you’re not here to talk about me and you, or you and me,” Sam points out in a sing-song voice, and he folds his long legs sitting a few feet away from him, as he let’s out a huffing laugh,”No, you’re here because you’re making a piss-poor attempt to dissect me with a very, very blunt tool. To try and decide if I’m worth the great risk that you’re contemplating. So I’ll make this simple - so simple - that even you can understand it: I would rather get fucked raw by the devil himself...then do anything to help that man.”

Dean snarls, anger clawing its way up as he abruptly stands, looming of his seated brother. “He is your flesh and blood father! That man raised you - He loved you, more than you can ever know,” His voice chokes up, strangling the softer emotions threatening to surface,”After you disappeared, he was paralyzed with grief. It was like he was in some kind of daze...he ate and he drank...but everything else was hollow...empty. Like he was already gone.”

Sam’s mouth is a thin line, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and he exhales noisily through his flared nostrils. Dean takes a deep, calming breath, shoving his hands into his pockets as his hands begin to shake. He needs a cigarette, bad. But, instead of lighting one up, he slumps back onto the bed frame, nearly going boneless, as he sighs and attempts to negotiate.

“Look Dad’s in real trouble right now. If he’s not dead already,” The hunter gently places his closed fist against his knee, his head going downcast, not missing the way the latter stiffens as if uncomfortable,”I can feel it. And I don’t want to lose anyone else. I...can’t. I just can’t.”

Sam is silent, but he doesn’t make a move to turn his back to him, or urge him to leave. That’s about as good as he was gonna get.

Dean admits softly,”I can’t do this alone.”

Sam is silent for a moment before he lowly utters, his voice a tiny bit annoyed,”Yes...you can. You don’t need me, much less want me with you,” His jaw clenched,”Go find someone else to be your muscle.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to.”

“Don’t,” Sam growls, pointing an accusing finger in his direction,”Don’t...lie to me.”

“I’m not. You don’t need your powers to know that,” Dean reminds him,”I could never lie to you.”

“Even now?”

“...Even now.”

Sam sighs and bows his head down, thinking, then he lifts his head up. “What was he hunting?”

Dean reaches behind his baggy leather jacket, to where the file is safely tucked. He pulls it out and opens it, rifling though the mess of papers to find the specific ones he’s looking for.

“When he left... why weren’t you with him,” Sam asks, genuinely curious.

Dean casually answers as he straightens out the papers,”I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans.”

That seemed to surprise Sam, and he demands with a doubting scoff,”He let you off the leash and let you run around on your own?”

Dean let’s out a wry laugh, bitterly stating,”You’ve been under lock and key a long time. Things changed,” He shrugs,”It took him a while, but he realized that he couldn’t keep me on a leash at his side forever.”

Sam is unusually silent at that, twiddling with his thumbs.

“All right, here we go. So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy,” Dean hands one of the papers to Sam,”They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

Sam clears his throat in annoyance, waving his hand in front of his concealed eyes. Dean’s mouth makes an ‘o’ in realization as he quickly sticks his thumbs under the winding bandages, lifting them enough, so that Sam can quickly read the paper. He makes an effort not to make eye contact, only seeing the deep yellow glare from the corner of his vision.

The paper is a printout of an article from the Jericho Herald, headlined ‘Centennial Highway Disappearance’ and dated Sept. 19th 2005; it has a man's picture, captioned ‘Andrew Carey MISSING’. Sam reads it and glances up, Dean’s thumb still pressed against the middle of his forehead, keeping the bandages out of his eyes.

“So maybe he was kidnapped,” Sam says at last.

“Yeah,” Dean tosses down another Jericho Herald article for each date he mentions,”Well, here's another one in April. Another one in December 'oh-four, 'oh-three, 'ninety-eight, 'ninety-two, ten of them over the past twenty years.”

Dean takes the article back from Sam and picks up the rest of the stack, putting them back in the folder. Then he gently lowers the bandages back down over his eyes. Standing in front of him, so that he can adjust them to make them comfortable, but also to obscure his vision completely. Satisfied, he nods and steps back.

Dean goes on,”All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road,” He begins shifting through his jackets ginormous pockets,”It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough. Then I get this voicemail yesterday.”

Dean holds the handheld tape recorder close to his little brother’s ear. He presses play. The recording is staticky and the signal was clearly breaking up. Their father’s voice breaks through,”Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

Sam frowns deeply, telling the latter,”You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” He approaches his brother, stooping down to his height as he continues softly,”I wasn’t lying...when I told you that there was a handful of things that I’d do for you, Dean. So I’m doing you a favor by telling you to leave here, right now, and start running...pray that he doesn’t already have his eyes on you.”

“Who? Who, Sam,” Dean demands, eyes wide.

Sam shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter...let’s just say he’s an old friend of mine.” 

“Do you think it was easy... letting them put you in this cement box? Watching them chain you up like some kind of goddamn animal? No,” Dean yells, pushing right into his brother's space, looming over him as his voice rises,”It is, and will always be, the hardest thing I have ever done. It's why... why I could never let myself see you until then because I knew if I saw you like that..."

"Sentiment isn't your strong suit, Dean. Never was. Don't try it now," Sam says simply, pushing right back into Dean's face. Though within he’s simpering in disbelief, wondering if he’d misheard his brother.

“You were the one with the puppy dog eyes.”

A flush crept up Sam’s face and he angrily utters,”You can’t do this. You can’t just turn your back on me for years on end, then expect me not to repay the favor,” He goes on with a rough, throaty laugh,”If I’m doing this, and that’s a big fucking if, I’m not doing it for you. And I’m sure as hell not doing it for...him.”

Dean flinches, not surprised at his brother’s attitude towards him, but it seemed only Sam had the ability to internally bite at him like that. “Then who will you do it for?”

“I’ll do it for myself,” Sam comes out with boldly,”I’m done playing human. Done being a damn science fair project. When all of this is over and done with, I want to go free without a target on my back. But in the main time I’m not going to be fucking hog tied in the back of your trunk until you think I’m of use. No chains, and these damn bandages come off.”

Dean let’s out an amused chuckle as he remarks,”I can get you a cheap pair of sunglasses from a gas station, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when I let you waltz around without chains.”

Sam cooly comments,”Happens more often than you’d think,” He chuckles, like it’s a sick joke that only he’d be able to get,”Besides, I’ll be much, much more useful without a handicap.”

“Maybe, but you’ll also be a nuclear warhead with a clear path.”

Sam’s face twisted, and he hisses,”Just be glad you’re not in it. If you want it to stay that way, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ll be a good bull to be chained to.”

“How do I know you won’t try to run,” Dean questions after a beat.

“I can’t,” Sam answers simply,”Like I said before, I don’t want a target on my back.”

Dean’s eyes bored into Sam, not like he could notice, and his jaw set. “You’ve disappeared before.”

“You don’t know the full story behind that, and I doubt that you ever will - Point is I didn’t mean to disappear,” Sam informs him,”Now, do we have a deal...or not? The choice is all your’s.”

“I guess you’ll find out,” Dean utters ominously,”...If you’re walking without chains tomorrow.”

———

The darkness of the early dawn didn’t hinder their fight. If anything, it enhanced it, turning them into silhouettes, the background light only highlighting their outlines. Brady’s quick, swiping punch sends Sam backflipping out of its reach and countering with a plain kick as he went. Brady’s backhand turned into a block, and using that blocked punch he grabbed the offered hand and yanked Sam off balance. The fight went for seemingly hours, until the sun slowly began to peak intro he sky the rays at last illuminating their figures fully.

Sam chokes out in surprise as he rolls to dodge another punch. He gives a sloppy mule kick that leaves him open to a kick in the stomach, and then an elbow catches his side that sends him sprawling on the grass. As Sam pushed himself back up, he growled and rubbed his jaw where he'd hit the ground. Brady laughs haughtily, crouching down with his elbows leaning over his knees to offer the latter a hand up.

"You're not hurt at all," Brady comments, taking his hand and yanking him upward with ease. He cocks his head, scoffing,”Hell, you're healing even faster."

A bitter laugh, and Sam squashed it before it got out of control. Intense training, he thought, but he didn't say it. As he breathes, he relishes the feel of air moving through him and sighing out again, the shadows seem to breath as well. Brady reaches out, running the back of his hand across the latter’s cheek. There was a sensual lingering of the cool hand just under his eye, a fingertip over his lip.

“Too achy for another round?”

Sam couldn't help another burst of nervous laughter but it left again before it turned wild. "Hardly. Wanna see?"

"Yeah,” Brady dropped into a defensive stance,”Let me know if you get tired too fast."

Sam swung high, swung low, then added several short thrusts that kept Brady backing out of reach. With a yell, Sam ran forward, swiping his arm sideways as if it was a club. Surprised, Brady gasped and dodged right, and he he winced as the latter yelped and went sprawling onto his stomach on the dirt.

“You’re getting sloppy. You need rest,” Brady chides with a sigh.

Sam shakes his head stubbornly, insisting,”No! Come on, let’s go for a run!”

Brady isn’t having it, and crosses his arms over his damp, sweaty shirt clinging that’s clinging to his tanned skin, as he drawls,”Stop drawing out practice, so that you don’t have to report back -“

But Sam’s footfalls are already thundering in the direction of the woods nearby, the wind blasting through his ears as he bounds past the trees. He covers the uneven ground littered with fallen tree limbs with a great lolloping gait that suggested his ankles were made of tightly coiled springs rather than the sinew and bone. Each one of his mighty strides were worth at least three of the average runner. With the slightest of effort he out ran the demon, barely breaking a sweat and not panting in the least.

“Sam! Sam - Damn it! Slow down!” The yells are in the far distance, echoing throughout the woods as startled birds take flight.

Sam cries out and goes skidding you a halt as Brady is suddenly mere inches away from his face with only a gust of wind as warning. The two young men grunted as they took handfuls of each other's clothing and attempted to wrestle the other to the ground. Then suddenly the demon lunged for him, and downwards they both fell with the demon steady on top of the latter’s body.

Sam, astonished, was effectively pinned down. Sam could feel Brady brushing against him; his legs pinning him down and only ghosting across his inner thighs. His arms held him steady and firm against the dirt floor and he defiantly lowered his head closer to his. Sam could do nothing, but simply melt in his warm and shaky exhaling breaths.

Without warning the demon dove forward and pressed his lips against his. At first the human turned rigid, too surprised to react. The demon pressed his advantage, leaning a little harder as the latter squirmed. He knew how this worked from his own nights with other humans. They would grumble, he persisted, and then they would give in.

So when Sam pressed against him, letting him take and demanding more, the demon smiled around the kiss. Until he flinched at the sharp pain spreading through his lip, wrenching back with a hiss. He tasted a tiny drop of blood and looked up in amusement at the young man.

A small smear of blood stained the humans lip, underscoring his wide eyes, his quickened breath that wouldn't slow down. He flicked his tongue over his lips once. The young man’s eyes burned bright, and his rapid blinking made it obvious he wanted this. And his mouth was open in clear invitation, for another kiss, another bite...likely both.

Then Sam’s eyes flitted above into the trees. “Oh, God...No, no, no - No! Please, God, no —!”

Brady glances up with his eyes wide. He curses, and even the demon looks surprised at the sight dangling from the tree’s upper branches. He suddenly envelops his body in his, his hand cradling the back of his neck, burrowing his face into his neck. “Fuck - Don’t look. Don’t look, Sam,” He whispers, his breath tickling his neck,”Keep your eyes shut...It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Sam had already seen the bloated corpse hanging limp from the rotting piece of rope, haphazardly tied to one of the many extending limbs of the tree. The corpse was almost devoid of skin and pitted by burrowing insects. Sam kept his face burrowed in the confines of Brady’s neck as his stomach heaved, nostrils filled with the smell of rotting meat. Without eyelids the milky blue eyes stared into the frozen sky while the lip-less mouth hung open.

“Who was it...who...was...” Sam finds himself muttering, and he feels fingers combing through his hair,”Who...was...”

Sam comes screaming back to awareness, flailing on the floor beside his bed. Panting, he whimpers, resting his head on his knees that are pulled up to his chest. He coughs, chest shuddering as he tries to catch his breath. It was only in those few seconds of calm, that he notices the blaring of sirens going off in the distance. Then he hears his door slam open, the metal frame slamming against the concrete wall.

Someone’s hand is abruptly shaking Sam's shoulder, then there’s a gasping as Sam retaliates by grabbing the connected wrist. He yanks it to the side, spinning his assilant around and onto his back, pinning him down against the floor. Sam sat on the latter’s chest, entangling his hands around his neck and squeezing with every ounce of his inhuman strength.

"S-Sa-Sammy...” The assailant chokes out feebly,”...l-let m-m-me...g-gah—Go!”

Sam, horrified, utters softly,”Dean?”

Sam let go and scrambled off of Dean, looking utterly terrified. Dean pushed himself into sitting position, watching his little brother scoot away as his hands trembled violently. Sam bows his head with his hands cupped over his ears as he breathes harshly, his svelte frame shuddering.

“What are you doing,” Sam growls at last, voice strained.

“...Getting you out of here.”

———

Dean Winchester steps into the room broken glass crunching underneath his feet. The sirens signaling his intrusion in the far off distance now, a reverberating whine. Sam Winchester lays slumped motionless on his bed frame, his thin cotton blanket balled up underneath his head as a makeshift pillow. Dean stares at the young man, takes in how soft, vulnerable he looks in sleep.

The hunter hesitates for a moment,and exhales, gently tucking the tiny hex bag into the pocket of his jump suit. Then he goes to work unfastening the warded manacles, and allows them drop to the floor. The skin beneath the metal is singed, but it quickly begins to heal, the old layer of skin shedding like a snake‘s, before crackling in on itself until it disappears entirely. The skin is fresh and smooth, showing no signs of ever being marred.

Sam is still deep in his slumber, so Dean shakes him gently. “Hey. Wake up,” Dean hisses. Sam opens his eyes, and he is clearly disoriented, as if waking from a long coma,”Are you okay,” Sam’s expression beneath the concealing bandages is groggy and confused,”Do you understand what I'm saying?”

There’s a beat, Sam’s soft, startled panting the only noise in the room, then Dean gently slides his hand over his shoulder and he gives it a shake. In one blinding motion, his little brother snatches his wrist and wrestles him to the ground, curling his long, limber fingers around his throat. Sitting on top of his chest, his expression cold, emotionless, not so much of a ripple as he chokes him.

“S-Sa-Sammy...” The assailant chokes out feebly,”...l-let m-m-me...g-gah—Go!”

Sam, horrified, utters softly,”Dean?”

Sam let go and scrambled off of Dean, looking utterly terrified. Dean pushed himself into sitting position, watching his little brother scoot away as his hands trembled violently. Sam bows his head with his hands cupped over his ears as he breathes harshly, his svelte frame shuddering.

“What are you doing,” Sam growls at last, voice strained.

“...Getting you out of here,” Dean states, fingers splayed over his throat,”Come on, we’ve got to get moving.”

Sam lifts his head, mouth a thin line as he comes to a swift conclusion,”I’m not leaving here quietly,” He scoffs and gives a toss of his head,”That’s cute, real cute. But, no.”

“Is that so,” Dean inquires,”Tell me, Sammy, how do these holier-than-thou hunters here, take escape attempts? Not too kindly, I’ll bet. Now, come on!”

Sam growls,”Do you know what they did to me? Not for some higher purpose like they claimed, but for sport? You can’t even begin to -“

“Are you done,” Dean asks, annoyed,”We’ve got five minutes before guards start spilling in -“

Sam frowns. “I think that’s your problem.”

“Sam, if you think I won’t drag you out of here by your ear -“

“You know I make fun of your intelligence a lot, but in all honesty you aren’t a complete and total idiot. It’s just little moments like this...” Sam slowly lifts his uncuffed wrists for display, his mouth curled into a knowing smile,”...that take the damn cake.”

The slow realization that fleshes out over his brother’s face is almost comical. “Sammy...don’t -“

"Quiet."

Dean's voice cut itself off. He gasped, surprised that he could still breathe. Sam watched him, obviously considering some of the horrific scenerios his brother was no doubt imagining. His hand stretched out, and it was a steel vise holding his brother helplessly stretched out before him.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. The single burning bulb over the door provided little more than a thin triangle of light, but even that was too much. A faint growl in his throat rose and died. It all went in slow motion, and he breathed out, and then focused on the light bulb. The bulb exploded.

The glass hadn't landed on the ground before he rushed forward. There were multiple gunshots, bullet casings clattering time the ground, then silence. He exits the cell, three bullets in his hand, and he allows his fingers to slowly uncurl, letting them clatter to the ground and roll away. His hands reach behind his head, catching the end of the bandages with his nail, and he carefully uncurls the winding strand from his face, letting that fall to the ground too.

The egg yolk hues of his eyes spill through the crack of his eyelids, as he gently flutters them open. His dark eyelashes bat rapidly as he blinks with great fevor.

Sam wondered, as he made his way down the eerily quiet and azure dark hallway, if there were others that he knew trapped in this place. Red lights flashed every so often, in blinding bursts. He couldn't sense anyone in that moment, but no doubt some of the warding was still standing, blocking his feelers. There was a young hunter farther up ahead, leaning against the wall with a shotgun cradled to his chest with his eyes clamped shut. He’d whispering underneath his breath, and sweat beads trickle down the side of his temple.

Sam crept forward, distantly wishing he had taken his brother’s shoes, before he’d left him to be found by his human friends. His bare feet are not faring too well on the cold, rough concrete. When he took a quick look around the next corner, the hunter was standing, holding his shotgun with an unsteady grip, attempting to point it in his direction. He didn't think twice, just dove forward with the grace of a lion taking out a gazelle, and with a wave of his hand forced him into swinging the butt of his weapon around, connecting it with his own face. He casually stepped over the unconscious body on the floor and came to a stop by the door he’d been leaning beside.

Sam wondered how many other numbered rooms there might be and what they may hold. He could continue down the hallway without so much as a glance, but a lure pulls him towards the cells. He knows that he should be getting himself out while the heavy-hitting hunters were busy elsewhere, but he couldn’t simply ignore his little psychic twitches. He couldn't feel anyone on the other side of the doors, but the warding could be a factor in that.

Thankfully, there weren't any guards on the other side, because he’d forgotten to check for a moment as he was just staring at the rows of cells much like the one he'd been kept in. The cells were all made with the same glass as his was, though the warding is on a much smaller scale, but the darkness only allowed him to see only shadows on the other side. He looked around and noticed a warded lock over one of the doors of the cell. He didn't really have the time to go pawing for keys in unconscious hunter’s coats, so he aimed his palm over the lock and watched sparks fly.

Sam watched the door creak open, and a svelte woman practically stumbles out, breathing harshly. Her dull eyes flicker up to his and she faces the latter with a slight smile on her plush lips. It takes a beat, but slowly a smile plays across his mouth as well and he chuckles deeply, the sound rumbling in his throat.

“Kate,” Sam exclaims, offering his hand toward the woman,”H-how are you...? When you never met me, I-I thought...I thought they’d...shit.”

Kate quirks an eyebrow, clasping his hand in her’s and giving it a tight squeeze, chuckling,”You know I’m not about to get ganked by a couple of flannels. If you can’t I don’t think anyone can, sugar.”

“I spared you, there’s a big difference,” Sam points out sheepishly. Abruptly he sharply tugs her hand, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug,”Are you hurt?”

Kate shakes her head, gently assuring him,”Just scrapes and bruises. A couple pints, and I’ll be fine.”

Sam abruptly pulls away from the hug, and rolling up the sleeve of his jump suit, offering her,”If you need some now -“

“No.”

“Kate you have to let me. Y-you...you could be starving -“

“Not from you,” The vampire states firmly, squeezing his arm in a crushing grip. The latter doesn’t argue and slowly nods, pulling his arm away,”Just get me out of here.”

Sam begins to feel his way down the corridor again, Kate cautiously trailing behind him, her hand closed tightly on his shoulder. She suddenly squeezes it, hissing softly,”There’s someone up ahead.”

Sam nods. “I can sense them,” His eyes narrowed, the glow of his yellow eyes dulling,”Well, I’ll be damned.” Just who I was looking for.”

“Sam,” Kate growls when Sam turns the corner without warning,”Don’t go running off - And there he goes.”

With a sharp gasp, Kubrick whirled, his mouth wide open—for a scream or just in shock? It didn't matter. Sam closed the few inches between them, covering the hunter’s mouth with his finger, effectively silencing him. There was a muffled cry and as the hunter tried to push him off, he simply held his wrists with his inhuman strength and pushed him against the cool cement wall.

Kubrick struggled, the tiny scratches of a kitten as Sam slowly brought his hands up above his head, crossed at the wrist so he could pin him with one hand. Sam's smile faded. He could make few hunter stop struggling with a word, a flick of his fingers, and yet to puppet him left him feeling strangely unsatisfied. Sam slowly pulled his hand away.

Kubrick observes,”So the bat got out of the belfry.”

“I want to hear you admit it - Admit that you enjoyed hurting me, humiliating me, demeaning me. And you didn’t do it because it felt just or right...you did it because it made you feel good,” Sam snarls lowly, yellow eyes flickering in the darkness.

Kubrick spits in his face, chuckling deeply, so that Sam feels the reverberations in their close proximity. Sam wipes the side of his sleeve down his face as Kubrick boasts,”I did. The sound of your screams give me more pleasure than any food or drink or woman ever can. I close my eyes,” He closes them and gives a slow smile, blinking them back open,”And I can hear it. It gives me chills. There’s nothing quite like it.”

Sam half-smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t sleep well, not at all really... but instead of counting sheep, I like to imagine ways to kill the few men on this earth that are foolish enough think that they can keep me in chains. I thought about flaying you alive in such vivid detail I thought I could hear your screams at night,” He punctuated his speech with a light chuckle,”But every scenario, no matter how long I try and prolong it, it’s still too easy... too quick... And there lies the problem.”

Kubrick continued to breathe deep, gasping in breaths too quickly. He shook his head once, squeezing his eyes shut again. “Do what you will. I’m ready to meet my God.”

“Oh, no. No, you misunderstand me... I’m not going to kill you. No, that’d be easy, far too easy,” Sam utters flatly, not overly concerned with the latter’s reaction as he inclined his head towards Kate at his back.

Kate stepped forward, parting her soft lips and her mouth didn't shift so much as it pulled, forcing her jaw open painfully wide as her teeth seemed to turn, twisting with audible wet cracks into long white needles. The hunter stared in rapt horror, his lips parting slightly. This close, he could see the faint serrations on the edge, the way that the teeth did not end in points so much as they simply broke off, all of them jagged as knives or chisels. Perfectly straight, not at all bending inward, a trap that would slash through soft tissue and force the victim further in.

“My friend here...she’s used to eating better. You’ll have to do,” Sam glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyeridge indulgently at the vampire, then tilted his head in an obvious question,”But, no, she won’t suck you dry, not right away. See, she likes to make her food last, to take everything they have, not wasting a drop. How long can a blood bag last for you...”

The vampire shrugs, answering,”Weeks, months...just depends on the person, and their inclination to live a little while longer.”

Kubrick blinked, his mouth opened but silent. His gaze swept the hallway as he searched for what to do, then settled back on Sam. “P-pl-please... Please,” The hunter begs pathetically,”Not this. Anything, but this...”

“I do understand, despite the fact that we’re not exactly friends. I understand that you’re afraid of the things that go bump in the night, terrified even, so you like to play pretend,” Sam chuckles, trailing a finger down the side of his face,”You acted as if you had some great power over me just because you held the chain. Well, I hope you’ll understand me, now - You, you and the rest of your belly-to-the-ground kind, will all know what a monster truly is. Not an innocent boy with demon blood pumping through his veins, but a pissed-off man with blood on his hands.”

Kate purrs pleasantly,”You’d best be off. I can smell some flannels coming to wrangle us back into our cages.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. We’ll see each other again.”

Sam nods and turns his back to the vampire and begins to depart down the hallway, yelling over his shoulder,”Jusy don’t get caught again.”

“Oh, please,” Kate responds, her elongated teeth glinting in the flickering red lights above,”If I can land a hit on you, your majesty, I can easily handle a few flannels.”

Sam smiles lightly, rebutting,”Stay in your weight-class.”

Sam slowly begins to walk down the narrow corridor, one of the few surging light bulbs eerily flickering above his head. Then a scream erupts. Boy, what a scream that was. It made the hair strand straight up on the back of his neck. It was the loudest most piercing scream he had ever heard. It sounded like a scream of wild panic. A scream of hysteria and disbelief, bordering on terror.

Sam smiles, and begins to run down the hallway again, before he encounters another block in the road. A man is standing a mere few feet away, and he hears the recognizable sound of a shotgun cocking. Suddenly he felt the heat of the barrel right in his face, and he breathes deep, swiping his hand to redirect the shot so that it fires into the ceiling. There was a curse, then the barrel was pointed in his direction again.

Light suddenly blasted through the hallway, and the two men both stared at each other, eyes growing wide. Sam looked around the cocked shot gun at the wrinkled face framed by salt-and-pepper stubble and the same old, tattered hat. Bobby stares back at him, shocked, and he held still for several seconds, though both of them were only a single step from killing the other. Sam swallowed reflexively.

Bobby opens his mouth for a split second, before quickly closing it, and he adjusts the shotgun in his grip. In the brief flashes of red light, the seasoned hunter’s face betrayed his inner turmoil, the lines and faint scars drawn up in thought. Slowly he turned the barrel away from him the latter’s face facing it toward the wall.

“You’re not gonna hurt me. Are you,” Bobby inquires, still sounding doubtful.

“Never,” Sam answers fiercely, for the first time sounding as young as he really was,”Have I done anything that indicates I would?”

Bobby is silent for a moment, before he at last admits,”No. No, you haven’t. And you’ve had more than plenty of opportunities to do me in,” He shakes his head, slowly stepping to the side,”Go...go!”

Sam nods, and begins to depart in the opposite direction, saying,”Thank you.”

———

Dean felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth but he never let it work its way into a grin. Remembering Sam, the way he used to be, was bitter-sweet.

Dean tried futility to shove those memories back down, the ones from the raid. He didn’t want to see it, he didn’t want to see the image of his little brother’s eyes flashing yellow as he screams his name, begging for him to listen. He didn’t want to remember the sobs that erupted from his brother as he was dragged away, the way his face collapsed when he realized his big brother wasn’t going to save him that time. He didn’t want to see it but he did, every time he closed his eyes, or lay to sleep.

———

Inside the club it was like dancing on the night sky; beneath the dry-ice smoke swirled an array of pale blues, dark purples, and silver. There was a sea of bodies, all writhing within or around each other like the waves, crashing down on one another with great, thunderous moans and gasps. The music played over the dance floor as if had fused with the writhing bodies. The twin doors at the entrance burst open, but he didn’t bother sparing even a quick flit of his eyes, for the newcomer was soon to fall under Tyson Brady’s spell too.

Brady lazily eyed the train of men and women circling the dance floor, all enveloped within one another, coiled around each other like snakes. On the stairwell closest to him, there was a woman beneath a man, another man against the woman’s side teasing kisses as the woman made strange, twittering sounds. Another woman was nestled between the woman’s legs, spreading her thighs wider, eagerly lapping. All the humans in the night club performed to his whim, like erotic marionettes, enjoying each other and indulging in each lingering touch, every delightful stray brush against skin.

"Fuck," One of the men murmured, licking the edge of the woman’s jaw, running his fingers over her bare chest,”So g-good...”

"W...wait..." The woman’s eyes drifted in and out of focus, lifting a hand to push away the wandering fingers. She fumbled for the mask around her eyes, attempting to undo the silk ribbon holding it there,”S-stop...s-s...s-“

This woman was certainly stronger than all of the other meat puppets. The demon gave a passing glance to her finger, noticing a ring with quite the impressive rock. This was the second time she’d started to slip his leash. The demon sat at the edge of the velvet cushion, staring with wide eyes as he gently rearranged her thoughts, until they were back into line.

With a wanton moan, she fell back weakly on the pillow, lost in the command, lost in the constant pleasure at her lips, at another woman’s curious exploration between her thighs. A spiral of tongue, and the woman was sinking under waves of pleasure, forgetting why she was fighting so hard in the first place. The demon breathed a tiny sigh of relief, his own fingers twitching as they adjust the white lace mask pulled over his eyes. His bright white suit produces a neon glow in the flashing lights above, and he smiles manically slowly tilting his head towards the new comer.

“Your enthusiasm is intoxicating,” Brady purrs pleasantly, waving open his arms in invitation. He fiddles with a wine glass between his fingers, flicking his tongue over his lip,”Come, sit.”

The young man obeys the light flickering around him, only revealing parts of his face, but for a split second a flash of yellow pulsates over his eyes. He lays down, resting his head in the demon’s lap, as the latter gently runs his fingers through his long, winding strands of chestnut hair. Then the demon realizes that the glowing yellow hue of the young man’s eyes was no trick of light, and a deep, amused chuckle rumbles from his chest as he leans down, pecking the latter’s plush lips.

“Sam - fucking - Winchester,” Brady whispers huskily, breath tickling the latter’s cheek.

“Brady,” Sam drawls,”I see not much has changed in my absence. You still have more jump in your bones than a rabbit.”

The demon laughs again, tossing his head back, and he tugs his fingers from the latter’s hair. “Everyone, leave! I can’t stand to have another pimply ass shoved in my face!”

All the fluctuating bodies abruptly come to a screeching halt, and confused gasps and murmurs erupt. People begin flooding out the exits, as they hurriedly tug on their clothes. A few women are crying softly, murmuring of what their respective partner’s will do to them if the night’s events are ever found out. Of course, the demon doesn’t seem to concerned, keeping his attention focused solely on the latter.

“Needy, this lot. At least a dozen men wanted a finger up the ass,” Brady complains with a sigh, leaning back on his elbows as the latter sits up,”I’ve taken it to myself to free the stifled people of this wretched planet. I provide entertainments and distractions for their miserable, wretched lives.”

Sam gives an amused snort, lips quirking into a smirk,”Don’t act as if this is for anything more than your own entertainment.”

Brady wags a finger at him teasingly, pointing out,”Ah, I never could lie to you! I’ll make some drinks,” He stands, his fly hanging open proudly with his belt undone and partially hanging from its loops,”Still take it the same?”

“No one can lie to me. You’re not special,” Sam replies dryly, following him towards the black glass bar that has neon white lights pulsating sensually around it. The fog the dry ice creates seems to thicken, and the electric music quickens,”I don’t drink.”

“So you do still take it the same,” Brady exclaims in delight, sliding over a tumbler that’s fizzing to the brim with soda water. Some sloshes over the sides, spreading into an uneven puddle on the surface.

Sam takes the glass and takes a light sip, setting down the glass with a barely audible clink. “Thanks. Though, I may need something a little stronger,” He glances towards the demon, who wordlessly lifts his wrist one the glass and digs his nail into the flesh; the two watch as the scarlet concentrates the clear liquid into a pale pink,”Not too much now.”

A grin spread over Brady's face, wide and open, showing his over-whitened teeth, and he comments,”I thought you’d gone cold turkey.”

“Warm turkey more like,” Sam counters, tilting the glass in his direction, and downing the glass. He hisses softly, closing his eyes for a moment, before they flash open again, his eyes shining like two miniature suns,”I don’t need it anymore. It just gives me a nice kick-start.”

“How I’ve missed this,” Brady remarks wistfully,”I guess that brings us to the elephant in the room - How in the actual hell did you manage to escape?”

Sam spins the glass around on the table, keeping his eyes on it as he answers,”The hard part was getting my brother to undo the chains, the rest was easy as pie,” He sighs, flipping the glass upside down and sets it on the table,”Speaking of which, he should be here in three...two...one...”

The twin doors were kicked in by a dirty old boot, attached to a bow leg. Dean comes growling and cursing with his gun at the ready,”I’d shoot you right here if I thought it’d do any good.”

“Settle down, Beavis,” Sam utters with a dismissive wave of his hand,”This was all part of the plan.”

“Plan? Wha - What plan? This was all kind of spur-of-the-moment -“

Sam interupts, producing the tiny hex bag from his pocket, dropping it on the table,”For you. I’ve been planning this since I first heard your footsteps reverberate down my hall.”

Brady interjects,”Oh, so this is him,” His eyes comb over the latter’s form, and he nods in approval,”I can see why you would let him diddle you.”

Dean scowls, cocking his head towards the demon,”And who the hell is this? He part of this great plan I’m just hearing about, too -“

“Hi,” Brady waves, grinning,”Brady. Tyson Brady. Demon.”

“Demon,” Dean repeats dumbly, before whipping his head back around to look at his brother. He grunts and redraws his gun.

Brady sighs loud, exasperated,”Put that away before someone gets hurt. And I’ll give you a hint,” He gives a condescending smile,”It’ll be the one person here who can’t take a bullet to the heart.”

“You’re working with him,” Dean grunts in realization, lowering his gun slightly.

“I wouldn’t give him that much credit,” Sam replies dryly, reaching over the bar to grab the open bottle of soda water. Brady opens his mouth to object, but he quickly cuts him off,”We’ll be out of your hair in no time. And don’t act as if you have a choice in the matter.”

Dean jumps in his skin when the demon is abruptly thrown into the wall, rattling the many bottles of alcohol on the shelf behind. Sam is standing, his bar stool kicked back on its side, with his hand out stretched towards the demon, his fingers parted and curled at the edges. In that moment his brother’s eyes reminded him of ashes and smoke blowing in the wind coming from a fire that burned everything to the ground. They were intense, coming from that fire that burned deep within his soul. Distantly he wondered if his little brother still had a soul.

Brady on the other hand, doesn’t look surprised, or even angry, just very exasperated. “Look, Sammy, we go back, and I’d go as far to say you’re the closest thing a demon can have to a friend,” He shakes his head, going on,”But if I tell you what he’s planning...he’s going to do things to me you wouldn’t think of in your darkest dreams.”

“I know,” Sam acknowledges with a stiff nod,”That’s why I’m not going to make you tell me. I’ll just see for myself.”

Sam takes that moment of shocked silence to plunge into the demon’s mind, and he observed through his eyes. It was like a deep breath before a plunge, then he bursts through, fighting his way through the waves, upon waves of thoughts, memories, voices. Then everything goes still and he bursts through the surface.

Sam was in the middle of those woods, where everything had started, but this time he’s not alone. All of the remaining special children surround him in a perfect straight line that reaches about the trees. The wind was roaring in the great bare trees of the center, as if it were some wild dark grove deep in a forgotten land. The two yellow suns blaze at their backs, shedding light upon their shadowy forms, and as their eyes blink open their hues match the sky.

“And then there were four,” Azazel purrs pleasantly in the distance, his voice in the wind. His father is standing beside him, a gun in his hand that’s pointed at the demon’s temple. He pulls the trigger and there’s a defeating shot, and bony birds go fluttering from the bare trees.

Sam comes gasping back to life, wheezing as he stumbles away from Brady. Brady slumps back down to the ground, falling to his knees. Dean hesitates before placing a hand on each of his brother’s shoulders, holding him steady as he staggers forward, eventually falling against him. Dean grunts aloud in surprise, but holds him close, his arms moving around his waist to hold him upright, his hand on the back of his neck to make him look into his eyes.

“He found it. That son of a bitch actually found it,” Sam gasps out,”...The Colt.”


	6. Never Let Me Down

**December 1999**

Sam was in the middle of those woods again. The same woods that are branded into his eyelids as he shuts them. The demon is trailing him from the shadows, unseen and nearly soundless with the cover of the dead trees and bloody sky. Only the snap of a branch or the soft crinkle of dead grass gives away his tormenter as he races through the woods like a rabbit trying to save its skin.

His grueling pace of running is almost soundless as his runners kiss the fallen tree branches and earth, and the warmth of the early morning sun shines down on the few inches of exposed skin. The tall, bare trees are all but invisible in the inkiness of the dawn, when abruptly twin yellow suns loom large are his head, shedding a blistering light that makes him flinch. He skids to a halt, kicking up dust behind him, as he steps around in a circle trying to spot his practically invisible hunter.

A tree creaks noisily and he jumps, gulping heavily, quickly resuming the chase. The moist humidity made him feel sticky and suffocated. His clothes and hair, slick with perspiration, clung to his tan skin. He could feel his heart throbbing violently inside his chest, like a rabbit running for its hide. His skin felt like it was roasting. He began bouncing slightly from foot to foot as he slowed down, and eventually stopped.

“Dean!” Sam cries desperately, voice raw.

In the distance, a voice calls back,”Sammy! Sammy! Sammy!”

Sam nearly sobs in relief. “Dean,” Sam screams at the top of his lungs, panting. Then the two yellow suns above blink simultaneously, enclosing him in darkness for a split second,”Please! Oh God, please! Don’t let him - No-“

Sam cries in the distance, his voice crumbling into indiscernible sobs and whimpers. He was alone, alone in a place he couldn't even see. He couldn't remember anything ever being so dark. So dark that he thought he was blind. Eventually his voice dies off all together with one, long scream of pure terror that fades into a withered whisper.

Hearing himself give away a choked cry of alarm, Sam is thrown back to reality as he finds himself still laid back in the leather recliner. Checking the clock on the side table, it shows 4:37 AM, which meant that he'd been fretfully sleeping in the same spot for only an hour. For once he appreciated the perpetual silence of the estate, instead of the usual hustle and bustle as he and the other children made their way around the mansion for one task or another.

"Fuck- I'm calming down,” Sam spat softly and grunted inwardly as he tried regaining his composed and calm facade,”God... Oh, God...”

Sam tried concentrating once again, tried to find the peaceful slumber he'd had a while ago, but to no avail as he felt himself being tense and rattled by the quick and sudden flashes his far-too-realistic dreams invited. Once the things he could no longer have, his brother, came to his mind, he could keep denying and swear, but never would his past leave him and his thoughts alone. Always must his brother be there. Or so it felt.

Always there and constantly watching his every move - twitch and beating of the heart - every flux of his demonic powers, every twisted act he committed in the name of a demon. The very same demon who had murdered their mother, tearing their family apart, and that had spilled his blood into his mouth. His brother, his painful, warped memory of him, would curse him for how easily he conceded. Would spit at his tears and running blood.

But Sam couldn't do that. He couldn't let his feelings get the better off of him, and he couldn't implore and pray for forgiveness for his atrocities. He couldn’t beg forgiveness for something that was in his blood, something that could never be purged or repented of, like other sins.

"You're awake."

Sam whirled, muscles tense even after he recognizes the creature in the doorway. The shadowy figure held his hands up in mock surrender as he came in. He still didn’t step into the light.

“What? Too many bed bugs bite?" Came his bored and drawling tone, tainted with a hint of curiosity as the all too familiar creature suddenly leaned down the back of the recliner next to the slightly shaken boy seated there.

Sam opened his mouth, but quickly clicked it shut again.

"Ah, I see cat got your tongue, too. No one is going easy on you tonight. Are they,” Brady vaguely inquired and leaned slightly closer to him, hand brushing his shoulder faintly, and Sam felt himself being all far too close to him for his liking.

Clearing his throat once, Sam shifted slightly as to get as distant as he could without arousing suspicion. The meat suit the demon was currently possessing was a handsome boy around his age with picture perfect blue eyes and blonde hair, accompanied with an eerily pearly white smile. This particular demon was meant to provide him with some sort of sick comfort, to act as a shoulder to cry on and a mentor...of sorts.

"I-I was just about to turn in," Sam had meant it to sound simple and also he'd meant to have spoken with ease, not lowly and skittish as he'd somehow made it turn out to sound like.

Brady let’s out a light scoff. “And just what would be the point in that? So you can lay on your back and stare at the ceiling until training in a few hours?”

The only light came from the television set on the other side of the room and whatever was glowing in the kitchen several yards away, so that they both looked like animated shadows.

Sam tilted his head and looked at him. "You were watching me?"

Brady didn’t bother pretending to care about having been found out. "All of us were, kinda,”He folded his arms, frowning,”Making sure you didn't try to cut your stay here short, again. Oh, bad joke.”

That stung more than he expected. Consciously, his fingers brush against the thick mask of bandages around the length of his wrists. “I didn't want to...I-I...It was an accident.”

A skeptical grunt. The demon would never believe that and stupid to think he would. "You heal fast enough. You’ll be fine in a few hours...” He quirks an eyebrow,”So it’s not the pain keeping you awake.”

“Bad dreams,” The young man says simply. Seeing the searching look in the latter’s eyes, he didn’t wait for the question, going on to say,”It’s the same every night. I’m in the same forest where I was taken, except it looks...dead, like it’s decaying. And my brother...he’s calling my name, but no matter how hard I try I can’t find him. Then I’m taken away, again, and drowning in darkness...”

“Just to be clear - The same brother you were fiddling around with, right?”

Sam’s brain stutters for a moment and his eyes are blown wide, every part of him goes on pause while his thoughts catch up. “H-h-ho-o...H-How,” He stutters, glancing about nervously,”I-I n-never t-to-told...”

“You just did, pretty boy,” Brady reveals with shit-eating grin,”I’ll admit, it was a bit of a shot in the dark. But as a demon I have a nose for especially dirty no-no’s. But I’m not judging. Shit, as a demon I commend hell worthy acts. I applaud you. If I even had a brother, I’d fuck him, too...just for the heck of it, honestly.”

The young man averts his gaze, hissing sarcastically,”And your stamp of approval means so much to me. Besides we never...” He flushes.

The demon is silent, for a moment, before he voices,”Do you think that if your family knew what you really were that they would have blinked if you died? No,” He catches the latter’s chin with his fingers, forcing him to face him,”They’d probably be the ones to put you six feet under. If anything...you’ve been given the chance to live.”

“I would rather die then lose myself,” Sam claims defiantly.

Brady smiles coldly, pulling his hand away. “Spoken like a true hunter,” He slowly gets to his feet, turning his back to him,”I’m going to bestow on you some wisdom only earned from a couple of decades on the rack...Everyone is a monster. Humans like to raise themselves up on pedestals above the rest of us, just because no one can see their fangs and claws. In actuality, we all have a disease we can’t shake, but the special children, they just stopped trying to cure themselves. They like the disease.”

Sam closes his eyes, uttering with a cool tone,”I’ll never stop fighting it. I know at least a part of me is human, and I have to believe it’s bigger, stronger than that other part of me.”

“You can’t fight what’s inside you, Sammy.”

“...It’s Sam.”

Brady just laughs, wagging his finger at him. “I can see why he likes you. Be in the back lawn in an hour.”

**November 2005**

“That’s why he took him,” Sam realizes aloud,”...He knows of the one thing that can kill him, but he hasn’t found it yet. He’s trying to get it from him.”

“Sam -“ Dean starts, a questioning look in his eyes.

Sam snaps his head towards his brother, quickly commanding,”Dean don’t say another word. Just get up and leave the room.”

Dean obeys, only his face conveying his fury at being puppeteered by his little brother. He exits out of the side entrance, and the door slams behind him. Sam turns back to the demon, silent and contemplating.

Brady is silent, his face rigid. “Sam...I know what you’re thinking,” He mutely shaking his head,”You can’t...you can’t go anywhere near him again. He’ll either kill you on the spot, or make you join him.”

“I don’t have a choice. There’s finally a chance,” Sam growls in response, eyes wide and desperate,”...He took everything from me. My family, my friends...my humanity. Just to have a chance at ending his life will more than make up for what will happen if I fail.”

“And him,” Brady inquires, motioning towards where his brother had just left.

Sam stiffens, shifting. “I’ll send him away, alter his memories if I have to,” He concludes with a nod,”If I do fail...and he takes him away from me... I’ll never forgive myself.”

Brady scoffs. “You still love him.”

“I never stopped. And that’s why it hurts so much,” Sam utters, voice thick,”Because I know we’ll never be the same again. He is a hunter, and I am a monster. The way he sees it as that I let myself get turned into this, that I should have died rather than become anything supernatural.”

“...Then screw him,” Brady comments, making Sam look up in surprise,”Screw him and every other close-minded human who would see you dead. They can’t even begin to comprehend what you did for them, what you’re trying to do - So screw them! We’ll leave, together, and keep on running...somewhere far away where he can’t find us.”

Sam smiles weakly at that, replying tenderly,”I’ve tried running. There will always be targets on our backs and that’s no life to live,” He shakes his head,”I’d rather fail and die, then run a single second longer. But you can - No, you have to. He’ll kill you if he figures out what you disclosed today.”

“And your old man? After what he did to you - “

“I can’t kill him,” Sam hisses,”I can’t. He is still my father.”

Brady snatches his wrist, pulling him close,”You know I went to hell for killing my father,” He purrs,”He came home drunk one night, started beating on my mother, and without saying a word...I picked up his hunting knife and stabbed him in the spine, twisted it there. Every inch of hellfire was more than worth it, for I got to feel the bone give away -“

Sam pulls away, looking sick, as he voices harshly,”Goodbye, Brady. Let’s hope we never see each other again.”

Brady chuckles deeply,”Let’s hope not.”

With that he turned and left, not glancing back as he focused on at last exacting his revenge. He walked out of the building and leaped over the railing and onto the ground, landing on all fours and slowly rising. Before he stood straight, he realized he wasn't alone.

"Dean..." Sam said, looking up and his brother was standing between him and the parking lot.

"Sam," Dean replies coldly, nodding once,”Going somewhere? I thought we had a deal - No running.”

"Get out of my way."

"Can't do that," Dean replies sharply.

"Sure you can. Just step aside,” Sam commands. Slowly his eyebrows raise and he chuckles, wagging a finger at him,”Very clever, Dean. You’ve been faking being susceptible to my powers of persuasion.”

Dean shrugs, smirking,”No one makes me do anything. Now, what do you say we get in the car and figure things out? You can fill me in -“

Sam interupts,”No, Dean. This isn’t your fight. It’s mine,” His voice is a low, angry growl,”I’ve been waiting for this all of my life...and I won’t let you of all people take it from me. I’ll let your father walk away, but he is mine! Mine and mine alone!”

“Who is he,” Dean demands,”You’ve been walking around this name like legos on the floor! Now, tell me who took my father -“

“The same one who took your mother from you so long ago,” Sam answers,”The same one who turned your father mad, and made him raise us like soldiers for war. The same one who took your brother like a thief in the night, and turned him into a monster. A thing with yellow eyes. His name is Azazel, and he is the sole reason we are cursed.”

**February 2000**

All of the remaining special children are sitting cross-legged on the manicured grass in a perfect circle with the early rays of dawn spilling over the faces. As Sam jogs across the great expanse of the lawn, several pairs of eyes flit in his direction, curious, before focusing on the demon standing in the middle of the circle. Sam takes a seat in between Lily and Scott, giving the girl a nervous smile as her soft eyes meet his.

Tom, the demon, takes note of his presence, before resuming his drawling,”...With demon blood pumping through your veins, you are all granted access to the wide array of powers at our disposal. Though the whole of you have tapped into a specific power with unusual precision,” He slowly turns around the circle, his eyes skimming over all of the children,”Scott, you electrocuted your new kitten to death when it scratched you.”

“On accident,” Scott nervously utters, biting at his lip,”I-I didn’t mean to -“

Tom ignores him, going on as if he hadn’t spoken,”Lily... stopped the heart of her mother with only her touch,” The girl in question has her head bowed, but he can the tiniest of smirks flit across her lips,”But just because you were able to pull off a few tricks, doesn’t mean you are near strong enough to become on of the four.”

Ava weeps softly, her hands cupping the sides of her face, and she whimpers,”P-please...I-I just w-wanna - g-go-oooo...h-home...”

The demon glides over to the sniveling girl, sticking the point of his finger into the underside of her chin, making her look up. “This is your home. And if you wish to survive, you’ll do well to remember that,” He hisses, yanking his hand away with a flourish,”You will thrive when you accept what you are, and fail when you try and deny it. Choose, life or death, see if I care when you’re one of the sacks of meats hanging as an example.”

Sam feels a shift in the wind at his back, and gasps in surprise when a hand lands on his shoulder blade. The demon had abruptly teleported behind him, and his free hand seizes his wrist, holding it up for the rest of the children to see.

“You don’t get to die by your own hands. The only way you’ll leave this place...is when we relieve you ourselves,” Tom snarls, his fingers digging into the spirals of bandages. He drops the wrist, side stepping around him and goes back into the middle of the circle.

Sam rubs at his wrist, grimacing. Tom gestures to the area around him, uttering with an air of grandiose,”Before you can learn to hone your unique abilities, you must first finish mastering your common abilities. That brings us to today’s lesson: telekinesis,” The demon turns his head towards one of the boys in the circle, inclining his finger towards him,”Jake.”

Jake stands, in the proper beginner’s stance, hands positioned, waiting patiently for the command. “Yes?”

“Break Sam’s neck,” Tom drawls, bored. He scoffs when he sees the blatant shock, and horror on the young boy’s face,”You are the most eager of all of them, claiming to want nothing more than to serve our master. Prove it.”

Sam weakly shakes his head, uttering with nothing but sincerity in his voice,”They don’t make us do anything. In the end...we still get to choose,” He gulps heavily,”Don’t let them take that from you.”

“Sam...” Jake whispers.

Tom laughs heartily,”Do not tell me after all that new puppy eagerness, you cannot even kill for your master? This boy...he is the one thing standing in your way of standing at his side, of being one of the four. He is the only one stronger than you.”

Jake moves his hand towards Sam, and the latter flinches, but there is no eruption of power, no violent twist of his neck. “I-I can’t...”

“Weakness,” Tom hisses venomously,”I’ll give you one last chance. Kill him. And if you don’t attack in three seconds...I’ll kill you both, and I guarantee you that I will not make it quick.”

Jake cries out, swerving his hand in the direction of Sam, sending him flying out onto his back. Sam grunts in pain, sitting back up with trembling limbs, and his eyes shift up to meet the latter’s.

“Fight back,” Jake whispers, his hand trembling in the air.

Sam gives a quick, almost imperceptible denying shake of his head. Jake grimaces, closing his eyes, before clenching his fist. Sam cries out as blood spews from his lips, and he coughs violently, fingers twitching over his mouth.

Tom commands, impatient,”Finish him. Or you’re finished!”

“Jake...” Sam pleads, his teeth stained red,”You don’t have to...you can still...”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Jake grits out, slowly splaying his fingers out.

Sam abruptly shoves both of his hands forward, his palms touching to form a wing span with his hands. Jake is thrown into the air without so much as squeal of surprise, and his limbs are forcibly splayed out, like a bug on display, immobile in the air. There’s a sudden change in the air, a thickness that nearly suffocates the individuals caught in the wake of it, and the boy is the epicenter.

Sam growls in frustration, the air around him like that of a hurricane, whipping his long hair against his face. Jake meets his eyes then with a wide-eyes stare, gentle tears cascading down his cheeks. He shakes his head, his lips parted. With a cry of relief, he throws his hands to his sides, crashing to his knees simultaneously with the other boy returning to earth.

“I won’t kill...not for you,” Sam chokes out, defiant, keeping his head bowed.

Tom frowns ever so slightly, turning his head to Jake. With a sigh, he snaps his fingers, and like an egg being dropped from a balcony the boy simply explodes. The blood comes like a tidal wave of scarlet, splashing over the other boy, nearly drowning him as he chokes on it and spits it out. There’s a scream, distantly he wonders if it was his, and he crashes to his knees, vomiting profusely.

The young man grits his teeth, tears escaping his eyes and blurring his vision as he struggles to word,”Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Speak louder, boy.”

“I said - Kill me! If you’re going to do it, do it now,” Sam sobs with pure hatred strangling in his voice,”Because if I somehow live through this...I’m going to burn through you all. You’ll all be ash.”

The demon scoffs,”Bold threats coming from a green boy, who can barely move a penny with his mind,” With a flick of his wrist, and a bored roll of his eyes, the young man was writhing on the ground,”But I’m not going to kill you. No, that would be too easy...no...I’m going to hurt you in ways you could never possibly imagine.”

Sam tipped his head up slightly, not moving as the demon slithered closer with his hands extended. Then the young man dived, his own hands curled in effort, towards him, and the demon moved. At least, the watching children thought he moved. One moment the demon was there, the next he was standing next to the young man’s lowered head, the next he was beside him with his hand mere inches from his neck. He jerks his hand. Blood sprayed out and poured on the ground, but the cut didn't kill him and they didn't expect it to.

Tom calmly states,”I will never give you the release you seek. You’ll live with what you are...what you’ll be turned into.”

“...F-fu-fuck...y-yo-you...” Sam spits and his blood tinged spittle splats against the demon’s cheek, and he chuckles, collapsing back onto his back.

Ava flinched and turned away, one hand pressed tight against her mouth. She closed her eyes, but she couldn't block the sound of her friend groaning in pain. “...Stop...please...”

Sam was rolled out onto his back, panting harshly, his hand pressing against the gushing wound. His eyes fluttered open and shut, flashes of images and sensations every time darkness threatened to take over his vision. He remembers being curled up in a warm car with another. Head against chest, and there are large hands curled around his small waist, and a face is pressed into his neck. He inhales and there’s a scent of leather and tobacco. There's warmth and the feeling of belonging and home and comfort.

There’s a sleek black car with legos stuck in the air conditioning. There’s a rattling noise when it thrums on. An army man wedged in the ash tray. Etched in the wooden panel is S.W and D.W. There's always a man driving the car, drumming his hands against the wheel as he sings enthusiastically to a muted trail of music.

The man will sometimes turn to him, his dry lips curling into the warmest of smiles. He says something, and laughs, sending him a wink. He can never hear what he says. He wants to, but it’s only ever a painful ringing in his ears were words should be. The man thumps his shoulder and says something else, his expression turning more serious.

He tries to read his lips. Follows the intricate mjovements, and sounds the word out in his head: shame. The man says it over and over again reminiscent of a crow cawing. Shameshameshame...

Then there’s the other man - Though he has a feeling he’s not really a man. He's sitting in the car with him him, sandwiched between him and the other man, his lips split wide open into a toothy grin. His eyes are like suns in their sockets and they glisten in the dim light and he can't look away. The car stinks with the heavy smell of sulfur and blood. And he's watching him.

Always watching, seemingly unaware of the other man in the car with them. And yet for some reason, his own body is seemingly nonexistent. He’s like a specter, watching the rest of the world, this little world trapped in a car, through foggy lenses. And the world is silent. Deadly silent. He doesn’t feel alive. He can't feel his heart beating. He can't hear himself breathing.

But the unflattering gaze on him. Two suns blazing their light on him and him alone. The gaze moves; eventually, swiveling to the back of his head. His face splits open down the middle, unzipping to reveal a great expanse of light that. And inside he’s begging for him to stop; he didn’t ever want to see his true face but he turns and he looks at him straight in the eyes.

And he’s staring into hell itself.

Then everything rewinds, the skin lacing back together to cover the thing’s face, and his eyes are on him once more. The man driving the car is talking again, his muted voice repeating the same word over and over again - Shameshameshame...

Shame.

Same.

Sam.

The man’s smile was gone, and in its place was his gaping mouth, seemingly screaming into the space around them,”Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam! Sammy!”

———

“Sam,” Someone says, their voice a hiss of a whisper far off, and he feels cold flesh against his arm.

Sam comes screaming back to life, bounding up from his limp position on the cot, the furniture shaking violently around him. He takes a long, drawn out breath, his chest rising and falling with the sedative qualities of a lullaby. Lily is sitting on the side of the cot, not startled by his brief outburst and stares at him with curious roaming eyes. Her hand is settled on the edge of his elbow, her slender fingers curled with her thumb stroking the skin.

Lily gives him a once over, notices the wide eyes settled on her hand. “I can control it,” She states plainly, still pulling her hand away,”I wouldn’t be touching you, not unless I knew for sure.”

“Sorry,” Sam apologizes, embarrassed.

“Even if I couldn’t, I doubt it’d kill you. Not for long anyway.”

Sam couldn’t help a way laugh at that, his eyes closing for a few seconds, but he hears a soft chuckle from Lily. “B-bastard got me good.”

“You had to be made an example of,” Lily tells him,”You shouldn’t have given him reason to.”

Sam is silent for a moment, and he flinches. “Will you help me up?”

Lily nods, taking hold of his hand and heaving him upwards. Sam grunts in pain, his hand darting towards his neck, feeling the layers of bandages. The telekinetic blow had gone through his neck like piss on snow. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, lowering his feet onto the cold hardwood below, his body shaking with exertion. He managed to go to his feet, but he quickly stumbled, leaning heavily against the latter, eyes closed, as he breathes deep. He gently pushes her off, going to lean against the wall. Running his hands over the smooth surface, he uses it to guide him out of the room.

"Sam, wait."

Sam paused, then turned his head slightly, not looking at her. "I can't do it, Lil. I can't. It's too much."

"Then don't," Lily said calmly,”Let it go, give it up! Whoever your family was, whoever you think will be waiting out there for you, they won’t want you...not when they realize what you are.”

"It's not that easy," Sam hisses, his voice wavering. He leaned harder on the wall, still not turning,”I-I wish it was...but I can’t just forget about them. My brother, my father, they’ll be looking for me...they’ll never stop.”

Lily agrees,”It’s not, but if I can do it...you can. Let go of the past, let it die.”

“Either I stay and lose myself," Sam whispered hoarsely, standing,”Or...I leave. And you come with me.”

"And go where,” Lily inquires, curious,”We can’t go back to them, no matter how much we want to. Things will never be the same again.”

"...anywhere. We can go anywhere!”

"Because," Lily ventured,”Any place that isn't here...it's somehow better? Sam...you’re smarter than that. I know it.”

Shaking, Sam nodded once. There was nothing more to say. He couldn't convince her to let him go, not at the risk of her own life. Lily stepped forward and she easily dodged his weak punch. Sam was faster and stronger than the others, but too tired, too broken, to use that against them. Lily grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him into the wall, and Sam barely turned his face aside in time. He cried out as she held him still, his whole world reduced to just two sensations, the rough concrete beneath his face and the tears stinging his eyes.

"You’re staying," Lily whispered harshly, her face flushed,”We’re staying.”

Sam shut his eyes tight, and then Lily drew him back and led him on, keeping a tight grip on his wrist as she guided him through the hallway. Before they reached his room, the darkness pushing in from the corners of his vision overwhelmed him and he was falling, falling back into that sleek back car, wishing someone would catch him.

“I-I just want to go home...”

**November 2005**

“...Wha-what,” Dean chokes out,”What are you...no...y-you...”

Sam watched him and started to smile. “You know so little of the story because like I told you in that cell - You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. We didn’t really get much time to talk during the raid, for you just saw my ugly yellow eyes and let them take me away without another word,” He gives a short laugh amusement,”And those quacks certainly never asked me what happened. They just wanted to see what made me tick.”

“Alright then tell me. Tell me what happened,” Dean growls mockingly. Sam just glares, his lips curled in a silent snarl,”Come on, Sam - You want to hear how I fucked up, right? How I was so scared of my own little brother that I let him get dragged away as he screamed, pleaded with me-“

“Stop it,” Sam snarls quietly,”Don’t you dare mock me just because you don’t have the balls to admit, to honestly admit, that you what you did was beyond fucked up.”

Dean glowers, responding coldly,”I’m trying to fix it - I am -“

”This isn’t something that can be fixed! Not with words, nothing! What’s done is done,” Sam grits his teeth, tilting his head at the latter,”You let me down in ways that I can’t even...you let them take me your brother, your only brother! When all I wanted was to... it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. All I want is to get away from you, as far away as I can, and kill the son of a bitch who ruined me!”

Dean’s eyes are wide and his face is screwed up in confusion. He abruptly reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a pair of warded cuffs. “You can either come with me now, willingly, and tell me that story yourself,” He starts, offering the cuffs toward him,”Or I take you.”

Sam started laughing coldly, ignoring how the latter cringed at the sound. “Do you seriously think that you can ever make me wear chains again,” He roughly shakes his head, hissing with contempt,”You had your chance to listen, a long, long time ago. Instead you threw me to the fucking wolves. You’re lucky I don’t rip your throat out with my teeth -“

Heart beating madly against his chest, Dean lurched forward, grabbing Sam behind the neck and crashed their lips together. Dean reached up, tangled his hands in Sam’s soft hair and dragged him down greadily into the bruising kiss. He heard his little brother’s startled gasp as he pulled him closer, his tongue plunging into his mouth to intertwine with his. He bites at his brother’s bottom lip, and the latter was momentarily stunned, but jerked his head back, away from the bruising kiss. He backed away from his grasp, indignant and surprised.

“What the fuck –?”

“Sammy -“

“No, seriously!” Sam sputters, staring at the latter like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears,”What. The. Fuck,” There’s suddenly a soft click of handcuffs and his wrists are pulled taut,”Oh, you shithead.”

———

There was a banging from his trunk, no doubt Sam objecting to his current state of affairs. Dean elected to ignore him, but when the banging only got louder and louder, then soon accompanied by screaming and cursing, he slammed on the breaks.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snarls, putting the car in park. He practically tears open his door and stomps out towards the trunk, yanking it open with an annoyed growl.

Sam lunges out of the trunk with a strangled yell, intertwining his handcuffed hands around his brother’s neck, tangling his legs around his waist. Dean cries out, going to his knees, clawing at the hands holding the short chain around his neck as he struggles to breath. Sam just tightens his grip, leaning down close to his ear.

“I don’t need my powers to take you out,” Sam hisses coldly, before swiftly kicking him in the balls.

Dean coughs, going to his knees as his hands grope at his throbbing crotch. His breathing is horribly erratic as he tries to catch it. “You fucker,” He chokes out, voice slightly higher, struggling to get back to his feet as he pulls his handgun out from the hem of his jeans,”You’ve got three seconds to turn your ass around and get back in the trunk!”

“Like hell,” Sam snarls in reply, kicking a clod of dirt in the latter’s direction for good measure. He then laughs,”Wait - Did your voice get higher?”

“Oh, when I get my hands on you -“ Dean stops himself. Dean slowly lowers his gun, pointing out,”You’re not gonna get very far...not on foot. And very soon you’re going to have a couple of holes in you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better then whatever this road trip has got in store for me. I am done being in chains,” Sam informs him, rattling the warded handcuffs on his wrists in emphasis,”I want to go my own way. You’re not a part of this - This isn’t your fight!”

“If you’re telling me the truth then this is the thing that killed my mother, and took my father,” Dean yells back,”And turned you into...this.”

Sam shakes his head, laughing mockingly,”There’s still so much you don’t know. I can tell you things about your beloved parents that would make your hair curl,” His nostrils flare and he goes on,”This fight is mine, and mine alone...the things he did...the things he made me do... I have the only right to revenge.”

Dean is silent, thinking. “You’re right you know. I let you down, I did,” He gulps thickly, struggling to word his poorly thought out apology,”I let you down in ways that I can’t even...and I know that we’ll never be the same. But that lure, that pull between us that we’ve had since birth, it’s still there. Not as strong as it used to be, but it’s still there...”

Sam stares at him warily, urging,”Go on.”

“I will listen. I swear to god, I will,” Dean grits out,”I may no believe every word, I can’t promise you that, not yet, but if you tell me your story I will listen. Just...just don’t go. I want to go with you.”

Sam is about to argue, but then a small ray of light peaks over in the corner of his vision. He abruptly turns, and he gasps aloud, nearly bursting into tears at the sight before him as he exhales shakily. The sun blooms on the horizon, golden petals stretching ever outwards into the rich blue. It is the brilliant flower of the sky that used to warm all of his days. Before this rising sun he may be only a silhouette, and as its rays, golden and strong, touch his skin, he closes his eyes.

“It’s...it’s beautiful,” Sam whimpers, eyes sparkling with tears,”I-I’ve missed it so much. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see it again...isn’t it beautiful, De?”

Dean hesitates, before answering with a new warmth in his voice,”Yeah, yeah it is, Sammy.”

“...C-can I just stay here for a moment. Just a moment,” Sam breathes, tears falling from his face as his lips tremble into a watery smile.

Dean doesn’t say anything, he just gently backs away, watching every human quality in his brother, so long suppressed, finally come to the light. Sam laughs aloud, crying unabashedly, out stretching his fingers towards the warm rays as if he could touch them, feel their weight on his flesh. Sam runs the sleeve of his white jump suit under his eyes, sniffling.

“You said you wanted to finally listen. Did you mean that,” Sam wonders aloud, voice thick.

“...I-I did...”

“Sometime ago you were looking for me and were taken by djinn. I took something from you then...a memory, and I’d like to give it back,” Without another word, he presses his fingers to his brother’s temple.

_Dean was hanging limp from the chains bolted to the ceiling, unconscious, with a long, thin tube protruding from his arm. Sam had his trembling hands cupped around Dean’s face, holding his slack head up so that their faces are mere inches apart. He sniffs softly, letting a shaking exhale escape his lips, and he feels more tears trickle down the side of his cheek. He lets his neck go slack, and rests his forehead against the latter’s his hands sliding down to rest on either side of his neck._

_“When I’m done talking you’ll forget. Ever word will fade from memory,” Sam commands power flowing into his words like thunder without sound,”I h_ ave _to go. I have to go, and I can’t ever come back. There are things that you don’t know, things at play that far exceed even every monster on this planet, and I’m caught up in it. But just know that... t-that no matter what I become, no matter how twisted and far gone I seem, I will never forget you and what you mean to me. Y-you’re the reason I-I want to be good...”Sam’s words stumble off, and he blinks rapidly, sniffing,”I’m sorry. I’m so sorry - Just know that I’ll never let you down.”_

 _Sam was rewarded when two_ unfocussed _green eyes blinked slowly open, and his older brother groaned in pain and confusion, struggling against the chains holding him. He was there beside him, stroking his hair as his big brother stared up at him, eyes wide with a flurry of cynical emotions._

 _Sam then watched in confusion as Dean reached out a shaky hand and gently brushed his fingers over his lips. There was no pain or wariness left in his big brother's eyes, just whole and true happiness. His dry, cracked lips tremble as they pull into a weak smile, and a single tear cascades dow_ n _his dirty face, leaving a streak._

_Sam gently pulls away, shaking his head. “You have to let me go. Y-you have to,”He stops quickly, lip quivering,”For both our sakes.”_

_“S-sa—Sammy...” Dean croaks, hands grasping at nothing as he reaches for him._

_“I love you. I love you so much,” Sam whimpers. He was unable to hold back the_ _tears as they rolled down his cheeks but he soon wasn’t concerned about them as he felt lifted his face up toward his brother. And before he knew it his lips were on his, firm and deliberate, not just a quick peck. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into it, firmly grasping his older brother’s face as he held his lips there, not moving them, just to feel the warm, dry flesh._

_Sam stood and turned his back to his older brother, breathing raggedly and with every intake he feels the invisible noose around his neck grow tighter. He was walking unusually slowly, almost robotically, as if his brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step. It was as if he were in a stupor. His eyes glimmered with silvery tears as he walked further and further, until his brother’s objections were a harsh echo in his head._

Dean gasps, pulling away from Sam. “Y-you...it was you. You were the one...who...” He blinks rapidly, demanding,”Why did you leave? Y-you could have...You could have stayed with me. Been with me.”

“No. No, I couldn’t have,” Sam responds rawly, his voice choking up,”Azazel would never let me go, and if I’d gone with you...he would have taken you from me, too. And I couldn’t...I can’t...live without you. There is nothing for me without you, even now.”

“Then let me go with you. Tell me the damn truth, and I’ll listen...I will,” Dean grits his teeth, stressing each word as he places his hands on his brother’s shoulders, squeezing them,”I’ll never let you down again.”

Sam stares into his eyes, and chokes out,”How do I know...how do I know this isn’t some sort of trap o-or...”

“You don’t. So you’re gonna have to trust me.”

Sam just silently gazes info his brother’s eyes as if they held the answer. His eyes were green but not the kind of shade that's easy to describe. It was almost like they were both green and yellow at the same time, with yellow creeping in around the edges as if it were trying to take over. He had eyes as open and honest as any child, a warmth and safety. In that moment he found himself crashing down, shattering like glass under the magnified intensity of that gaze.

Weakly, his voice barley a whisper, Sam says,”Until the end of the line.”

“...Until the end of the line,” Dean echoes, his green eyes sparkling with stubbornly held back tears.

The trees rustle gently in the morning breeze, as the morning sky continues to wake. Silvery wisps of clouds scatter across its depths, highlighted by the pinks and golds expanding along the horizon. Golden light dribbled over the land like syrup on pancakes. The leaves shimmered like a mirror flecked mosaic and the morning dew sparkled on the bejeweled cobwebs and grass.

“We’ll find dad, and we’ll kill that son of a bitch,” Dean vows, eyes off towards the woods. He hesitates, before setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder blade keeping it there for a moment, before the latter gently shrugs it off.

”Let’s not rush things,” Sam smiled at the latter,”Dean, we’ve been apart, broken, for six damn years...nothing that long changes that quick...no matter how many heart feet conversations we have.”

Dean had the grace to look embarrassed. "Let’s keep those to a minimum."

Sam laughed, stating,”You really haven’t changed,” He stared back at the sun, bathing in its rays,”It'll never leave me, not completely. I’ll never be able to be the same again, or well...put up that facade again.”

"You were really...always like this?”

Sam nodded. "Always, or as long as I can remember. I bottled it up, my powers, that itch to do something more...that demon just popped the cork,” He sighs aloud, closing his eyes,”It’ll never go back down now.”

“...Come on,” Dean says, nudging him and cocking his head towards the car,”We’ve got work to do.”

“What? I don’t have to go back in the trunk?”

“Go anywhere near my balls again, and I’ll hogtie you in there.”

There’s a jingle of keys, a low thrumming rumble of an engine, and the car is speeding away. It goes until it’s a dot on the sunset. In the woods beside the road, there’s a rustle in the bushes, a tremble in the trees, and a pair of yellow eyes blink in the distance.


End file.
